Love Letters

by Liz

Nods: thanks again to my betas, TAE, Rachel, and Sybelle, for keeping me honest to the characters and clear in my direction.

Rating: NC-17 for crime scene description, angst, and GSR, oh yeah and intimate scenes.

Where this fits: After Glimpses Through the Forest
 

10:30 am Thursday

For the tenth time in an hour, Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the tension beneath the skin. He had been working for almost two weeks without a day off, helping to cover part of Catherine's shift while she was attending a conference in Chicago. But, after testifying in court later this morning, he wouldn't have to report in to work until tomorrow night and it was the carrot in front of his nose.

He called it 'private time'. Grissom and Sara had been practically living together for almost four months, but there were still times that he needed to be totally alone and she as well. Today was his private day. They had made plans to get together tomorrow after she woke up.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small off-white envelope. He removed the card, smiling at the butterfly embossed on the top. He picked up his pen and began to write. This method of communication had become a treasure to Sara and a solace to him. Those many times when he couldn't express himself verbally, he wrote her a note, placing them in unique places. Sometimes the notes were sweet, sometimes lustful, and sometimes supportive, but they were always from deep within him.

Dear Sara,
I miss you and it's just been a few hours. I love you and want to spend the day with you at home. Call me when you wake up. Xxoo GG

He sealed it, and addressed the envelope with simply her name, planning on dropping it off at her house on his way home after court. Grissom slipped the note back into his jacket pocket, picked up his briefcase, and headed for his car. Unlocking it as he approached, he opened the driver's side rear door and tossed his briefcase in the back seat. Shutting the door he opened the driver's side door, carefully easing his tired body into the leather seat. He started the engine, and pressed CD4, smiling as Steely Dan's Aja start to play in the car. Reaching for the door, he pulled it shut, shifted into gear and drove to the courthouse.
 

Earlier Thursday 8:30 am

Sara walked into her apartment and put her keys on the kitchen counter. She set her phone in its charger and stretched her neck. The weather had started to shift and the wind was freshening, hastening the upcoming storm. She decided not to go for a run, opting instead for a shower. As someone who had chronic insomnia, she was exhausted. Today had been the eighth day in a row without a day off. She took off her clothes and turned on the water. Stepping in, she sighed, missing Grissom's mammoth shower with its two shower heads. She washed slowly, luxuriating in the smell of the soap and the hot water. Finally, she turned the water off and toweled dry. Slipping on a t-shirt and underwear, she walked into her bedroom, pulled back the sheets, got into bed and rolled to her side, falling asleep almost immediately.
 

1:00 pm

The phone rang and Sara immediately groped for it.

"Hmm, hello?"

"Hey, kiddo, it's Brass. Is Grissom with you?"

"No, Jim. I'm here alone. What's wrong?" Sara asked, now sitting up and paying attention.

"I'm not sure. If he calls you, have him call me right away." Brass said evasively.

"Jim..." Sara warned.

"I have to go, kiddo. See you tonight. Bye." Brass said quickly, hanging up the phone.

Sara frowned as she hung up the phone. She listened to the relative silence in her apartment. The rain hit softly against the window and was somehow a comforting rhythm. She got out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweats against the chill, and padded to the kitchen to heat water for tea. She stopped as she saw the note propped up against a coffee mug on the counter. Smiling, she opened the envelope and read Grissom's note. He had been by the apartment that morning while she slept. she thought. Sara wondered if she should call Brass. Leaving the note on the counter, she put water into her glass beaker and heated it in the microwave. Four minutes later, she poured the boiling liquid over her tea bag, and walked over to the couch. Sipping her tea, she felt the need to go to the bathroom. Walking back towards her bedroom she opened the door wide and was surprised to see Grissom curled up on the floor near the toilet, soaking wet. He had removed his gun and cell phone and put them in the sink.

"Gil!" she cried, running to him.

Kneeling by his side, she felt for his pulse and found it steady, but not strong. His hair and clothing were wet and his face felt warm to the touch. She looked at him closely and noticed that the knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bruised. Not knowing what to do, she walked quickly to get her cell phone from the kitchen and called Brass.

"Brass,"

"Jim, he's here and he's unconscious." Sara said, walking quickly back into the bathroom.

"Okay, take it easy, I'm on my way. " Brass said, turning his car around to head towards Sara's apartment.

"Hurry, Jim," Sara asked, sitting on the floor near Grissom and running her fingers through his curly grey hair.

"I'm on my way, ten minutes, tops." Jim said, the siren wailing in the background before he hung up.

"Sara Sidle, CSI may I introduce Andy Hays." Jim said, looking for Grissom.

"Hi, uhm he's in the bathroom. Jim he's still out and it doesn't look like a migraine. He's soaking wet." Sara said, ignoring the stranger and wrapping her arms around herself to help keep it together.

"I know, kiddo. I'll explain everything once Andy and I see him." Jim said, walking to the bathroom with Andy in tow.

Jim knelt to Grissom's right while Andy took his left. Gently they straightened him out and turned him on his back. He didn't fight, he just slept. Andy pulled out his flashlight and checked Grissom's eyes, ears, and throat. He continued to check his body for any outward injury. Sara watched, fighting back tears from the doorway.

"His right hand is broken," Andy remarked, looking at Brass.

"Well, that makes sense," Brass replied.

"All right, let's try to rouse him," Andy said.

"Gil? Wake up, Gil," Jim said, softly.

"Louder, you have to speak louder." Sara suggested softly.

"Gil? Wake up," Jim said loudly.

Grissom opened his eyes, sitting up and looking around in a panic, not knowing where he was at first or how he got there. Jim reached across and held his shoulders gently, trying to anchor him. Grissom looked at him and recognition flashed across his face. Grissom drew his knees up to his chest, holding his right hand and lowering his head, as if trying to forget something.

"Grissom, how do you feel?" Andy asked.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He winced at the pain from the attempt. Grissom raised his head and looked for Sara, signing his response awkwardly with his left hand.

"Like shit," she interpreted.

Andy looked at her and then back at him.

"Hey, buddy, we found your car half a mile from here at a traffic..." Brass started before Grissom bolted to his feet awkwardly and ran out of the room into the living room.

The others followed quickly, finding him pacing, his broken right hand to his head, rubbing his temple, and his left hand curled into a fist.

"Griss, are you getting a migraine?" Sara asked softly.

He signed back to her, reflexively.

"Not getting, already have one. Spots. Need to go to bed." She interpreted.

"Which medicine?" Sara asked.

He signed back, making his way to the sofa, groaning as he lay on his stomach. Sara walked swiftly to the fridge and pulled out the Sansert and a bottle of water. Jim followed her to Grissom's side as she shook out one pill.

"Grissom, take the medicine," Jim growled loudly.

Grissom opened his eyes long enough to take the medicine on his tongue and swallow it with water. He lay back on the sofa, now on his back, holding his right arm across his chest.

"We need to immobilize that hand," Andy remarked softly.

"We need to know what he saw. Sara, what do you suggest?" Brass asked, standing wearily.

"He's been up since noon yesterday. He'll be up in an hour and then down for four or five. It won't be pretty and he'll be lucky if he's back to work tomorrow night." She said, pulling up a chair to sit by him.

Andy looked at Jim and then at Sara.

"I'm going to go and get a splint." He said, leaving the apartment.

Jim walked up to Sara and sat in the nearest chair.

"He's the department psychologist." Jim remarked softly, staring at Grissom's sleeping form.

"What did he see that you are so afraid of?" Sara asked, reaching for his hand.

Jim looked at her and then at Grissom. He held her hand tightly, trying very hard not to remember every detail of the gory accident scene he had just been at. He started to shake, his emotions riding too high. Sara stood and pulled him into a close embrace. His tears flowed onto her shirt and she held him until they heard Andy returning. Andy crossed to Grissom and gently put the splint on his right hand. Rocking on his heels he looked up at them.

"Without an X-ray, I'm just pissing in the wind, but this is better than nothing."

"Andy, Sara is Grissom's partner. We need to tell her what happened. I ...I just couldn't." Brass said, taking a slow breath and wiping his face.

"At approximately eleven-fifteen this morning, there was an automobile accident at the corner of Venture and Grove. A truck plowed into a minivan with a mom and two kids. We believe Grissom was a witness to the accident. After the accident, we have another witness who saw someone answering Grissom's description screaming and running up to the driver of the truck. The driver was pulled out of the truck and he was struck once by the civilian. The civilian then walked away, screaming until his voice was no longer heard." Andy said, softly. "Grissom walked here in the rain. I would recommend getting him out of these wet clothes."

Sara looked at Grissom and noticed the perspiration gathering on his forehead. She reached over and calmed him.

"Jim, stay with him, will you? I need to find him a t-shirt." Sara said, walking to her bedroom.

"Okay," Jim said, placing his hands on Grissom's face.

Andy watched with great interest. When Grissom became agitated, Jim touched him and he relaxed.

"How did you learn that?" Andy asked.

"Grissom's acupuncturist, actually. He was in distress and he taught Sara, and Sara taught me." Jim said, looking back at Grissom. "Gil's my best friend."

Andy looked at Jim and at Grissom as Sara entered the room.

"Okay, the bedroom is ready for him. Let's let him wake up." Sara instructed, stepping away from them.

Fifteen minutes later, Grissom woke himself up and tentatively stood. He reached out and Sara found his hands, guiding him to the bathroom. When he was finished, he started to pull off his clothes, starting with his shirt and then the splint. Sara put a firm hand on the splint, preventing him from removing it and Grissom continued removing his trousers, socks and shoes. He stood in his shorts and splint, swaying slightly. Sara handed him the t-shirt and he put it on easily. She helped him into bed and eased him to his left side. She rubbed his back in circles until he fell asleep. Standing, Sara walked back into the living room, challenging both men.

"Andy, why are you here?" Sara asked.

"I asked him to be here, Sara," Jim defended.

"Jim, I asked Andy." Sara said, looking straight at Andy.

"I work with people who suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. I saw Grissom when he came back from Jim's cabin last month. Basically, he was fine, but he needed reassurance. Jim saw the scene today and deduced that Grissom might have seen the accident, so he called me. Sara, no one should see people decapitated, especially children." Andy said, softly.

"Oh my God, Grissom," Sara said, the tears streaming down her face as Jim tried to comfort her.

"Now you see why Jim and I are trying to keep an eye on him." Andy replied.

"His broken hand?" Sara asked.

"He pulled the guy who hit the kids out of his burning truck. The man said something and Grissom lost it, according to witnesses."

"He boxes, as relaxation, and he is very good. Tell me, how badly did he hurt the other man?"

"Just a broken jaw, so says the hospital," Andy replied.

The three of them sat in the living room, listening to the soft pelting of the rain on the window. Suddenly it was interrupted by an odd noise. Sara ran to the bedroom, Andy and Jim in tow, and found Grissom sitting up in bed screaming noiselessly, the bedside lamp on the floor. The sweat poured down his face and he started to shake as Sara tried to hold him.

"Easy, sweetheart, you're all right." She murmured, holding him tightly and rubbing circles on his back until he started to relax.

Jim picked up the lamp and set it back on the bedside table and then followed Andy out of the room. Sara eased Grissom back onto the sheets and walked back into the living room.

"I need Roger here as soon as you can get him." Andy said, writing notes in his book, then looking up to see Sara's hard stare. "Roger and Grissom formed a bond up at the cabin. I don't believe that either you or I will be able to help him through this, but Roger just might."

Jim walked to the kitchen and dialed his cell phone.

"Hi, how are you?" Roger McAllister replied.

"I'm fine but Grissom is in trouble. His doctor, the trauma specialist, Andy, is asking for you." Jim asked, softly.

"Oh, damn, Jim, uhm, are you sure? This is sort of a bad time."

"Roger, he needs you. How soon can you get here?" Jim asked.

"I don't think I could drive." Roger replied.

"It's a little after two. Be at Hardin's at two thirty, and don't eat anything else." Jim said.

"He's strong; he'll be fine." Andy said to her softly.

"I feel everything he does. Why didn't I know this?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"He shut down, Sara. He's not letting anyone in. He's back in his self-preservation mode." Andy explained.

"I'm breaking the rules, but highway patrol is going to pick Roger up in their chopper and deliver him down here to the airport. He'll be here in about an hour and a half." Jim said, walking back over to them. "In the meantime, I have to get back out there. You two okay??"

Sara turned from Andy's gaze and wiped her tears. Jim walked to her and embraced her tightly. He kissed her forehead, picked up the spare set of keys from the clay dish, and left the apartment. Sara took a deep breath and picked up her cold tea.

"Would you like some tea, Andy? I'm afraid all I have are tea bags." Sara asked, dumping her old tea into the sink.

"Sure, thanks, it's been a long morning," Andy said, settling into a comfortable chair next to the sofa.

"Honey, come to bed," he painfully whispered, reaching his right arm to her.

Sara got into bed, feeling him spoon against her back, drawing on his strength. He slid his right arm under hers and folded his left arm under his head. He held her close, ignoring his headache and the throbbing of his right hand. Thunder rolled, virtually shaking the townhouse and Sara held his arm tightly. He spoke softly to her, comforting her in her fears until, exhausted, she fell asleep. The thunder continued for a time and then stopped as quickly as it started.

"Has he been pretty quiet?" Sara asked, walking into the kitchen to think about a meal.

"Yes, he came out about an hour ago, drank some water, and stretched out on the couch. I think he's really sleeping now, not fighting the medicine and the migraine." Andy noted.

"He won't be up for another hour or so, and he won't be able to eat anything until around midnight. I'm making some cheesy scrambled eggs, do you want some?" Sara said, pulling out the ingredients from the fridge.

"Thanks; that would be great." Andy said.

Andy's cell phone went off.

"Hays,"

"Hi, it's Jim. I have Roger. We'll be there in twenty minutes. How are things?"

"Grissom is asleep, Sara is making supper."

"Great, would you ask her to make a pot of coffee?"

"Will do, see you soon,"

"Bye,"

"Bye," Andy said, closing his phone.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, he'll be here with Roger in twenty minutes and I got the feeling that Brass hasn't eaten anything either." Andy said, watching her stop in midstream.

Sara reached back into the fridge and removed the entire carton of eggs.

"May I help you?" Andy asked, removing his sport coat.

"Sure, why don't you make a pot of coffee?" Sara asked as she grated more cheese.

"How did you know?"

"The only person who drinks more coffee than Jim is Grissom. Now that we're about to be invaded, Grissom will wake up earlier than normal and need a cup of coffee as well." Sara explained.

Andy took that information and nodded his head, as he pulled out the ground coffee from the fridge. He made a full pot and then sat back on the stool and waited for it to brew. Five minutes later, the coffee was ready and Andy poured himself a cup.

"Would you like some?"

"Please, with just a touch of milk."

"Is this the right colour?" he asked.

"Yeah, perfect," Sara said, looking into the mug.

The buzzer went off and Andy went to the door to answer it. He saw an older man with grey hair and a beard looking over his shoulder. Andy turned and let the man enter, Jim followed behind.

"Ah, Moss, what have you done this time?" Roger asked, crouching by him and brushing his hair back with his hand.

Sara continued to make breakfast, listening to the conversation in the background.

"Roger, I'm Andy Hays. We've spoken on the phone." Andy said, walking over to him.

Roger stood slowly and shook the other man's outstretched hand.

"Pleased to meet you," Roger said, looking behind him into the kitchen. "Excuse me,"

Roger walked into the kitchen and accepted a mug of coffee from Sara.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, touching her face with a gentle hand.

"I'm in the dark, Roger. He hasn't been able to tell me what happened at the cabin after we left; I just know that he trusts you. Have you eaten?" Sara said, trying to stay strong by focusing on a task.

"No, I was advised not to." He said, glaring at Jim, who was sitting on a stool, hands in the air.

Sara dished up four bowls of scrambled eggs, as it was easier for her than plates, and handed them out. She handed out forks and napkins, and then leaned against the kitchen counter, slowly eating her food. There was quiet in the apartment, the three men sitting on stools facing Sara in the kitchen, thoughtfully eating and sipping their coffee. Quietly, she put her bowl on the counter and walked by them to the figure on the couch.

"Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?" she asked, helping him to sit up.

"Dizzy, nauseous, throat hurts, hand hurts. Honey, may I have some coffee?" Grissom asked, his head in his left hand, eyes closed.

"Sure, we're not alone, just so you know," she said, kissing his cheek, before walking to the kitchen.

Grissom opened his eyes and slowly looked around the living room. He blinked twice, focusing hard on the three figures at the breakfast counter. He smiled and started to chuckle but stopped when his throat hurt. Sara put some ice cubes in his coffee and walked back into the living room. She handed him the mug, but didn't release her grip until she was sure he had it. He took a tentative sip and then smiled. The smile disappeared, quickly replaced by an angry look as he remembered what he had seen and realized why the three men were in Sara's apartment.

Andy walked up and sat in the chair nearest him. Roger watched from the relative safety of his stool. Jim took out his pad and pencil. Sara sat next to Grissom and put her hand on his knee. He openly flinched and moved away. Hurt, she stood up and walked to the kitchen, sipping her coffee and fighting back the tears. Roger got up and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small pad and a pencil. Opening it to a blank page, he walked to Grissom and put them on the coffee table in front of him.

"Show me what you saw, Moss." He instructed softly.

Grissom looked up at him and then at the pad, slowly shaking his head.

"No, Nuncle, please," Grissom whispered softly.

"Gil, I need to know what you saw," Jim asked, his voice soft.

"No, Jim, please, I can't..." Grissom whispered again.

"You left the courthouse. What happened?" Andy prompted.

Sara looked at him from the kitchen, sipping her coffee and trying not to cry. Grissom lowered his head into his left hand and said nothing, seeing the horror over and over in his mind. He started to shake with emotion at the gore he saw as well as the anger towards the other driver. Roger sat next to him but didn't reach out to him.

"Easy, Moss, you're safe, it's okay," Roger said, softly.

"I can't do it, Nuncle. I don't want to do it. Please, don't make me, please," Grissom pleaded, his voice soft and tears streaming down his face as he looked at the man next to him.

"All right, it's all right. I think you need to sleep, now. We'll talk later." Roger said, standing and holding his hand out to him.

Grissom took it in his left and pulled himself to his feet, rocking slightly. Roger slid his arm over Grissom's shoulder protectively. Sara walked out from the kitchen and led Roger back to the bedroom. They got him settled again and Roger gathered her into his arms for a tight hug.

"Don't give up on him, please," Roger said, softly. "He just needs some time."

"I know, it's just the process that hurts," Sara said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

They walked back into the living room, surprised to see Jim and Andy finishing the dishes in the kitchen.

"I have to get back to work," Jim said, sighing.

"As do I," Andy said, pulling out a business card. "These are my numbers. If you need me for any reason, please call, day or night."

"This is not going to be a quick fix," Roger warned, taking the card from him.

"I know," Andy said.

"Sara, don't forget to call the Sheriff and tell him about Gil. I know he's not scheduled, but his condition should be noted." Jim reminded.

"How much do you want me to tell him?" Sara asked.

"I would just tell him that Grissom broke his hand and leave it at that." Andy recommended.

"Okay, I guess I'll talk to you later." Sara said, still off-balance by Grissom's behaviour.

"It'll be okay, I promise." Andy said, before following Jim out the door.

"I like that one best," Roger said.

"Best of what?" Sara asked.

"Best of the sketches he did of you. I think there were five or six in total. I told him I liked the lighting in this one." Roger said, softly.

"I've never seen his notebook from Elko. I've just seen his lab books." Sara said, trying not to sound jealous.

"Be right back," Roger said, picking up the pad and pencil from the coffee table and walking back to the bedroom.

Grissom was asleep, but not restful. He tossed and turned, his t-shirt saturated in sweat. Roger reached over and touched him, watching him calm immediately. He left the pad and pencil on the chair by the bed and rejoined Sara in the living room.

"He's restless again," Roger remarked, standing in the doorway, looking restless himself.

"I'm sorry, Roger; can I get you something to drink other than coffee?" Sara said, standing and walking to the kitchen.

"If you have some white wine, that would be wonderful." Roger said gratefully.

"Yes, I have some Sauvignon Blanc chilled, would that do?" Sara asked.

"That would be splendid. Let me open that, you have to make a phone call, I believe." Roger said, walking into the kitchen.

"Thanks, I almost forgot." Sara said, reaching for her cell phone.

She hit speed dial six and waited.

"Atwater,"

"Sheriff, this is CSI Sidle,"

"Yes, Sara, what's up?"

"Grissom broke his hand at a car accident scene this morning." Sara said.

"Thanks, Sara. I actually read the report on that scene. How is he really? Has Andy seen him yet?"

"He's having a hard time," Sara admitted.

"I saw the photographs from the scene and I will tell you that even Doc Robbins would be affected if he saw that accident. Keep me posted, will you?" Rory added, sincerely concerned.

"I will," Sara said.

"So you will be lead tonight?" Rory asked in confirmation.

"Yes, sir, I will," Sara reaffirmed.

"Very well, thanks for the update." Sheriff Atwater said, hanging up the phone.

Sara hung up her phone and turned back to see Roger drinking wine from a rocks glass and smiled, as Grissom did the same thing.

"Roger, I have to take a nap before work. Are you okay?" she asked.

"Sure I'll watch the tube until he wakes up. Are you okay?"

"I will be when he opens up." Sara said, looking up to see Grissom standing in the doorway, his Lakers t-shirt soaked through.

Grissom walked to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of water. He ran the bottle over his face before opening it and downing the contents. He walked back to the living room and looked at Sara.

"I need to go to my house. I'm sorry, I...I can't stay here right now." He said softly, his voice hoarse.

Sara stared at him for a moment and then walked to her bedroom. Grissom followed, opening the closed door to find her standing, back to him, sobbing. He reached his hands to her, his right hand still in the splint, and turned her around to face him. Tears started to fall from his eyes at the pain that he was inflicting on her.

"Honey, I need to be home. I'm not centered, I'm upset, and I just can't do this here, especially when you won't be here with me." Grissom said softly.

She looked at him and realized he had heard the entire conversation she had had with the Sheriff. She hugged him, trying to gain control. A few moments later, she took a deep breath and stood back, looking at him.

"Take Roger, and call me a couple of hundred times tonight, please. You know I'm going to worry about you," Sara said, kissing him passionately on the lips.

He returned her kiss and stood back, wiping the tears from her face. He pulled on his trousers and shoes and felt for his house keys.

"Your gun and cell phone are in the bathroom sink," Sara pointed out.

Grissom smiled, not remembering. He walked out into the bathroom and got the rest of his things, meeting Roger in the living room. Looking at the glass of wine he smiled.

"Can you get us a cab? We're going to my house." Grissom asked.

"Uhm, sure, just give me the number to call." Roger said, putting down his glass with a frown.

Grissom found the number on Sara's fridge and handed it to Roger. Sara walked back into the living room and helped Roger with their two addresses for the cab company. Roger finished the call and hung up.

"Honey, I love you and I know you want to come home with me. I just can't handle it right now. I love you more that I can say, I'll call you later," Grissom said, kissing her again.

"Roger, I expect phone calls from one or the both of you," she said, sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Roger replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

They walked out the door, leaving her almost three hours before shift began. So much for a nap. She walked to her bookcase and removed a box, setting it on the coffee table. Sitting down, she opened the box and pulled out one of Grissom's letters and started to read it, lost in his love for her.

7:45 pm

"Let's go, Moss," he said, jostling Grissom a bit.

Grissom opened his eyes, realized he was home, and got out of the taxi. Roger followed Grissom up the stairs to the front door and they walked in. Grissom put his keys in the clay dish that Lindsey made for him and set his phone in the charger. He hung up his windbreaker and gun in the front closet and kicked off his shoes at the bottom of the circular stairs.

"The guest room is down that hallway, second room on the left. The bathroom is through that hallway; master bedroom and bath upstairs." Grissom said, picking up the remote to turn on the stereo. Soon, Yo-Yo Ma wafted through the living room and both men started to relax.

"Come here," Grissom invited as he walked into the lab room.

Roger followed and was greeted by the hissing of the cockroaches, secured in their habitats. But he was more interested in the framed photo puzzle over Grissom's drafting table and the sketches that were tacked up everywhere. The more he looked, the more notebooks he discovered; each filled with drawings.

"Nuncle, I have to go sleep some more. There's food in the fridge, and if memory serves, a very nice Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand." Grissom said, softly.

"Sleep, Moss, I know you're off schedule. It's too early for me. If you don't mind, I'll just watch the tube." Roger said, following him into the living room, closing the lab room door behind him.

"I'll close my bedroom door and you can practically do whatever you want, sound wise. I'll see you later." Grissom said, walking to the bottom of the stairs.

Roger walked up to him and embraced him in a tight hug.

"Don't be afraid. Let the memory come." Roger whispered into his ear.

"I'm scared," Grissom whispered back.

"I know, but don't be. I'm here." Roger said, trying to project strength that he didn't feel he had right now.

Grissom broke from his embrace and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He walked in and shut the door behind him, stripping off all of his clothes and heading for the bathroom. He started the shower and removed his splint, stepping into the powerful shower, sighing audibly. As he washed, the fatigue that followed a bad migraine, plus his emotional fatigue, started to catch up to him. Finishing quickly, he toweled off, picked up the splint and put it on before padding back into the bedroom. He took a fresh pair of shorts from the dresser and slipped them on. Pulling back the covers, he crawled on top of the bottom sheet, resting his right arm across his chest, and soon fell asleep.

The memories of the accident invaded his sleep almost immediately. He was following a maroon minivan into an intersection and saw the truck accelerate through the red light. The minivan hit the truck between the two axles. Grissom woke up, his body covered in sweat, heart racing, shaking at the memory of what he knew was about to happen.

Getting out of bed, he pulled on a Chicago Bears t-shirt and walked downstairs, noting that Roger had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Grissom took out the Maker's Mark and pulled one glass from the cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge. Carrying all three items, he walked into the lab room and shut the door. He continued to the drafting board and started to fix a drink. Opening a drawer, he found a note card with an ant embossed on it and began to write a note to Sara before his memories took control. He put the card in the envelope and set it to the side. Sipping his Maker's and water, Grissom pulled the sketchbook he had started at Elko from a drawer and opened it, thumbing through the pages. He ended with a blank page and reached for his headphones. Slipping them on, he hit play on the CD player, immersing himself in Yo-Yo Ma, and started to draw.

10:00 pm

Roger woke up suddenly, unaware of his surroundings until he saw Forensics Monthly on the coffee table. The television was showing a documentary on elephants, the volume was low. Turning the TV off, he stood up and poured himself another glass of wine; then he went to the lab room to look at Grissom's sketch books. He walked in and was surprised to see Grissom sitting at his drawing board, humming and sketching; an open bottle of Maker's at his side. Roger walked up to him, suddenly realizing that Grissom had no idea he was there. He tapped his foot on the floor until Grissom turned around. Pulling his headphones off, the anguish was etched on his face. He stalked out of the lab room, leaving Roger alone. Roger closed the sketchbook, holding it under his left arm, while he carried the bourbon, water and glass back to the living room. He stopped at the breakfast bar and set everything down. He took the sketchbook and sat at the dinner table by the stereo. Opening it randomly, he saw the sketches that Grissom had done in Elko. Sighing, Roger walked to the lab room and retrieved his wine glass, resuming his position looking at the sketches. Roger thumbed page by page, unaware of Grissom's presence as he reentered the room from the bathroom. He fixed a fresh drink and stood, pacing on the carpet by the circular staircase, lost in his thoughts.

Roger continued to look at each sketch until he got to the ones that Grissom had just drawn. He closed his eyes at the image as tears escaped his eyes. His hand shaking, he turned the next page and tried to summon the courage to look at the next image. He did and felt his stomach start to churn. Quickly, he got up and walked to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. Hearing the noise, Grissom followed it, kneeling behind Roger, his splinted right hand under his chest, his left hand rubbing circles on his back. Roger sat back on his heels, and Grissom handed him a wet face cloth.

"Thanks," Roger said, wiping his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to see that." Grissom said, leaning against the sink, looking at the floor.

"Too late," Roger said, slowly getting to his feet.

He walked back into the living room, leaving Grissom alone in the bathroom, and reached into his trouser pocket, retrieving the business card. Picking up the portable phone he dialed a number.

"Hays,"

"I need you,"

"Roger? Okay, I'll be there in ten or so."

"We're at Moss's townhouse," he replied.

"Uhm, okay, fifteen minutes." Andy amended.

"Thanks,"

"No problem,"

"I'm so sorry,"

"I know, Moss. It's okay. Would you put the cellos on? I need to relax a bit." Roger asked, breaking free from the embrace.

"Of course, Nuncle," Grissom replied, reaching for the remote, and then walked back to the breakfast bar.

Softly, the strains of Suite for Solo Cello flowed through the living room. Grissom held his bourbon tightly, standing in the kitchen; Roger sat on the sofa: both men lost in their thoughts until the buzzer rang. Roger walked to the door and admitted Andy.

Andy looked at Roger's pale face and smelled the sourness on his clothing as he walked by him. When he walked into the living room, he saw Grissom pacing in the kitchen like some animal. Roger led Andy to the table with the closed sketchbook and walked away. Andy sat down and opened the book at page one, remembering the cases that Grissom had told him about almost two months ago. He saw Tycel at the Bonanza, the Lewises, the staff of CSI, Roger and his family and then there were four blank pages. When Andy turned the fifth, he bit his lip to hold back a cry. He stole a glance at Roger, who sat on the sofa quietly, his head in his hands. Next he looked at Grissom, but he was no longer in the kitchen. Intrigued, Andy turned the next page in the book, and continued for the next eight, spellbound. Finally, he turned to a page and it was blank. Andy shut the notebook, his hand trembling slightly, and sat back in the chair.

A few minutes later, Andy stood and walked into the kitchen for a cold drink of water. He was startled by Grissom, sitting on the floor in the corner, his head down, weeping silently. Andy crouched next to him and spoke before touching him.

"Grissom, you're okay. You're safe, Nuncle is here. Come on, let's go see, Nuncle." Andy tried to cajole him.

"No, c... c... can't," Grissom said, trying to catch his breath.

"Why not?" Andy asked, eyebrows knitted in thought.

"I upset him, he's mad at me. Please, leave me alone." Grissom said, still looking at the floor.

"I could never be mad at you," a clear, steady voice said from the doorway to the kitchen.

Grissom raised his eyes to the voice, and reached up his arms. Roger walked in and helped Grissom to his feet with Andy's help.

"I'm so sorry, Nuncle," Grissom said, over and over, resting his head on Roger's shoulder, embracing him tightly.

"Moss, you need to sit down and tell Andy everything. Can you do that?" Roger asked, holding his shoulders at arms length.

"I'll try," Grissom said, walking into the living room and sitting on one of the new comfortable chairs that he and Sara had bought.

He sat for a few minutes and then in a low voice, started to tell the story.

"I had just left court, driving to Sara's house to drop off a note. Traffic was light. I was following a maroon minivan. The light turned green and we headed into the intersection. From the left a Budweiser truck ran the red light. The minivan....hit between the two sets of wheels." Grissom said, changing his stare to his right hand.

"How far back were you from the minivan?" Andy asked softly.

"Ten feet, maybe, I could see the kids in the middle seat." Grissom replied.

"Were they strapped in or in car seats?" Andy asked.

"They were too big for car seats but they weren't strapped in." Grissom commented, his left knee starting to bounce.

Roger looked at Andy and then at Grissom from his position on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"Okay, the minivan hit the truck. What happened next?" Andy asked.

"Nothing," Grissom said, flatly.

"Nothing?" Andy asked, looking at Roger.

Roger shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing," Grissom repeated.

"Moss, tell the truth," Roger instructed.

Grissom shifted in the chair, his hands between his legs and his gaze to the floor and remained silent for several minutes.

"He was driving too fast, and I told him, but I was a kid and he didn't listen to me. I never saw the car coming." Grissom said finally.

Andy looked at Roger again for direction.

"Moss, when did your father hit the other car?" Roger asked, seeing Andy nod in understanding.

"1964, I broke my shoulder," Grissom replied off-handedly.

"Moss, there wasn't a police report," Roger remarked, remembering when he did a background check on Grissom senior the previous month.

"No, he dragged me from the car and took the registration. No one knew,"

"Was anyone hurt?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, everyone," Grissom said, barely audibly.

Andy looked at Roger, took out his notebook, and tried to catch up. Five minutes later, they resumed.

"Grissom, what happened after the truck hit the minivan?"

Tears started to roll down Grissom's face as he remembered the scene.

"Moss, answer the question," Roger said, firmly.

"I...I stood on my brakes. I don't think I hit them, oh God, I hope I didn't hit them..." Grissom said, starting to shake, his arms crossed over his chest.

"No, you didn't hit them," Andy confirmed.

Roger got off the stool and pulled up a chair next to Grissom, who was unaware of his actions.

"I put my car in park and it hit the windshield and it kept coming." Grissom said, now crying at the memory.

"What hit the windshield?" Andy asked, already dreading the answer.

"Them, the mom and two kids, and ...." Grissom said, now trying to catch his breath.

"What,?" Roger asked in horror.

"The roof of the car, the heads of the kids and some beer maybe," Grissom said, flatly, his tears stopping abruptly.

"Stay with me, Grissom, come on, what happened next?" Andy said, kneeling next to Grissom, seeing him sliding back into shock from the memory.

"I got out of the car and the truck caught on fire. The driver was still in the truck. I pulled him from his cab and dragged him away from his truck before it exploded. I stood him up and he asked what happened." Grissom reported, lowering his hands into his lap.

"He was in shock, maybe," Andy suggested.

"And then he laughed. He laughed a stinking drunk laugh and I hit him as hard as I could. I don't remember anything else until you woke me at Sara's, and frankly I'm a bit sketchy about that." Grissom remarked softly, looking over to him for the first time.

"You broke the driver's jaw while screaming bloody murder, according to witnesses. You stripped your vocal cords again, as you did a couple of months ago. I'm surprised you can speak." Andy replied.

"Nuncle?" Grissom asked, reaching for him with his splinted hand.

"I'm right here, Moss," Roger replied, touching his hand.

"Nuncle, I hurt, help me Nuncle." Grissom said, his tears starting again.

"Let's get you to bed, all right?" Roger said, helping Grissom to his feet.

Grissom walked up the circular stairs without aid and entered his bedroom with Roger at his side. He pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it to the floor. Slowly, he climbed into bed, rolling to his left side. Roger sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his back until he was sure Grissom was asleep. He picked up the t-shirt and folded it out of habit. Looking around the room he stood and folded the other clothes that lay on the floor, placing them on a chair. He looked at Grissom again and walked downstairs to the living room.

"Yeah, he said, stinking drunk, and Jim, he sketched everything. You have enough to put the guy away, but it's brutal. You're kidding? He stole the Bud truck? Yeah, he's asleep upstairs. His father ran a red light when Grissom was a child and there were injuries. That was part of his trouble at telling you. Yeah, I'm calling her next. See you soon. Bye," Andy said, closing his phone.

"Roger, are you okay?" Andy asked, looking at the pale face of the older man.

"Yeah, I'm just tired. It's almost eleven thirty, way past my bedtime." Roger said, rubbing his face.

"I hate to ask you but if you could sack out on the sofa until Sara comes home, you could hear him..." Andy started.

"Yeah, I thought of that. Hell, I don't know how well I'd sleep, anyway." Roger admitted.

"Roger, I'm sorry, I can't stay here. I need to get this report filed so we can hold the guy. There's only a twenty-four hour window." Andy said, walking to the older man.

"I know, I do, really, it's just, this is the first time I've been back to Vegas since Martha and it's him and he is so much like Jeremy..." Roger said, his voice fading.

The front door opened and a very tired Jim Brass walked in, slipping his set of keys into his pocket.. Sensing his friend's distress, he walked up to him and embraced him tightly.

"Roger, I'm sorry, I just realized what we asked you to do. Please forgive me." Jim whispered.

Roger held Jim, all of his reserves gone, tears coursing down his face. Andy looked at the two men for a moment before clearing his throat softly.

"Jim, if you're staying, would you call Sara? I'll go process this report so we can keep this creep behind bars." Andy said.

"I'm already at thirty-six hours, I think. I told them I was going home. Go, Andy and thanks," Jim said, not moving from his embrace with Roger.

Andy left and Jim heard the door close and the lock latching shut

"Okay, Roger, let's get you to the guest room." Jim said, carefully pulling out of the embrace and guiding him.

They walked down the short hallway and Jim reached in and turned the light on before walking into the room

"Strip," he said over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Relax, Gil has spare pajamas for guests." Jim said opening the dresser drawer and pulling out a pair of pajamas with ants over them.

Roger looked at them and smiled, removing his shirt and trousers before slipping the pajamas on. Jim helped Roger into bed and turned out the light, leaving the door ajar. We all have demons Jim thought.

He walked to the kitchen and put the Maker's back into the liquor cabinet, pulling out the Jameson's Irish whiskey. He took a fresh glass, filled it with two fingers, and then poured water from the pitcher in Grissom's fridge almost to the top. He removed his sport coat, hanging it on the back of one of the bar stools. He removed his holstered gun, cell phone, and the contents of his trouser pockets and set them on the breakfast bar. Picking up Grissom's land line, he called Sara on her cell.

"Sidle,"

"Hi, kiddo," he said, taking a draw on his drink.

"How is he? No one's called."

"He talked and it wasn't pretty. Gil's sleeping upstairs, Roger's in the guest room. I'm staying until you get off duty." Jim said, listening to sounds from upstairs. "I think he's dreaming again. I have to go. See you after shift." Jim said, hanging up the phone before he heard a response and heading for the stairs.

"Easy, Gil, you're safe, I'm here," Jim said, as he approached the bed, setting his drink on the table.

He reached to Grissom's face but his hand was pushed away. Trying something different, Jim put his full hand on Grissom's chest at the sternum, feeling his heart beating fast and then slowing. Grissom lowered his hands to his side and rolled over. Jim dragged over a chair to be close to him. Sitting down, he felt for his tie and removed it, dropping it to the floor. He unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Lastly, Jim kicked off his shoes and reached for his drink, and then he sat back in the chair and watched Grissom sleep.

2:00 am Friday

Grissom struggled out of bed, unaware of the figure asleep in the chair. He walked into the bathroom and turned the dimmed lights up to look at his face. The grey was daunting, as was the pain in his right hand. He washed his face and took three Aleve with water. He stumbled back to bed and lay on his back, waiting for the Aleve to take effect.

He entered his non-sleep state, waking every twenty minutes from a dream he couldn't remember. Finally, after almost an hour, he gave up and walked in a slight stupor downstairs. Grissom looked at the Jameson's on the breakfast bar, not remembering that Jim had been by. He put the bottle away and cleaned up the kitchen. He was restless, not sure of what to do next. He walked into the lab room and sat at his drafting table. Reaching for his note to Sara, he removed it from the envelope and started to write. The splint made it difficult, so he pulled it off and resumed his note. He reached for another card and lost himself in his words.

The fatigue started as he stood and walked out of the lab room with his notes in his hand; three envelopes for Sara. His edginess returned as he lined the notes on the breakfast bar. He lay down on the sofa in the living room, dressed only in his shorts, and practiced his relaxation exercises.

4:00 am

Jim woke up, his neck in pain, the bed in front of him empty.shit, he thought. He rubbed his eyes and slipped on his shoes before walking downstairs to find Grissom pacing in the living room. His bare right hand was cradled in his left, he was grey, and he was sweating.

"Gil? What's going on?" Jim asked, standing in front of him to stop him.

"I think my right hand is broken. It really hurts. I can't sleep. I took three Aleve, it doesn't help." Grissom said, not seeing Roger standing in the doorway in his ant pajamas.

"Okay, you're going to the E.R." Jim said, starting to collect his belongings from the bar countertop.

"Give me a minute, I'll be right with you," Roger said, turning to get dressed.

"Roger, we don't all need to be zombies tomorrow. Besides, Sara might get off work early; she's going to need someone to explain this to her." Jim explained, trying to keep Roger from reliving the memories of Martha in the hospital.

Roger's face blushed in frustration and he looked towards the floor feeling helpless and useless.

"I'm here, you know." Grissom pointed out, sitting on a bar stool.

"Yes, and you're only dressed in your underwear. Where can I find a pair of pants and a t-shirt for you?" Jim asked.

"Running pants, on the bench at the bottom of the circular stairs," Grissom said, sucking in air against the pain.

"All right, great, here you go," Jim said, finding a UNLV shirt as well as the pants, and helped him dress.

He slid Grissom's feet into his loafers and then searched for his wallet. Grabbing that, he guided Grissom to the door and left Roger alone. They walked down the stairs to Jim's Taurus. Grissom settled and Jim walked swiftly to the driver's seat behind the wheel. Starting the car, he headed for the hospital and called Sara.

"Sidle,"

"Just to keep you up to date. Grissom and I are heading to the hospital to get his hand set. It hurts, now. Roger is at home. Kiddo, I need you to talk to him. He wants to talk to you." Jim said.

"Okay, I guess," Sara said, looking at the db at her feet, and trying to pay attention.

Grissom reached his left hand out and pulled the phone from Jim's grasp.

"Hi, honey,"

"Griss? You okay?"

"I will be, I need you, and I miss you. We have a date soon, you know."

"Yeah, that would be today, Bugman. We'll see what state you'll be in for a date."

"Good point, I'll see you soon," Grissom said, falling asleep, the phone slipping from his hand.

"Sara? You still there? He fell asleep. I think he'll be fine."

"Thanks Jim, I guess I'll see you later."

"Take care, kiddo,"

"You too, Jim," Sara said, and closed her phone.

"You brought Dr. Grissom in?"

"Yes, he was in a car accident yesterday at around eleven in the morning and slugged someone."

"Why didn't you bring him here then?"

"Delayed stress; he didn't feel any pain. Besides, I couldn't have gotten him here if I had the cavalry helping." Jim said with a small smile.

"Okay, I need to reset his knuckles. I'm going to put him in a cast. This isn't normal but he's so agitated I think he'd just remove the brace if I gave him one. When I'm done you can take him home." The doctor recounted.

"I need to be in the room with him." Jim insisted.

"Oh, well, it's not life or death; I guess if you can keep him calm, then you're welcome." The orthopedist said, turning to walk back into the exam room.

Jim followed and was surprised to see Grissom strapped to the table, unconscious.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, sleeping, finally, he fought every inch of the way." The orthopedist said, settling onto a stool to work on Grissom's hand.

The pain brought Grissom around and he started to move. Jim reached over and touched his face and he quieted. The doctor looked over at him and nodded, working quicker to reset the knuckles. They took another x-ray before setting his hand in a very stiff cast.

"Thanks, Captain, I'll write down that Dr. Grissom needs an associate with him during treatment."

"Are we ready to go?"

"Yes, he's a bit groggy. Wait a half and hour and then he should be alert enough for you to handle him.

"Thanks,"

6:00 am

Jim and Grissom arrived at his townhouse and walked quietly into the living room.

"Okay, pal, let's get you into bed before you fall down." Jim said, pointing him in the direction of the staircase.

Grissom walked up the stairs slowly and walked straight to his bedroom. He walked to the closet and kicked off his loafers. He started to pull off his running pants but when he bent over to get his legs out, he became dizzy.

"Hang on, I've got you," Jim said, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Grissom reached for the bureau and held on while Jim finished removing his running pants. Gently he pulled the t-shirt over Grissom's head, taking great care when he maneuvered his cast through the arm hole.

"Okay, now you're ready for bed." Jim said.

Grissom walked ahead and pulled the sheets down to almost the foot of the bed. He climbed in and lay on his back with his right hand on his chest. Jim pulled the sheets to his waist and went downstairs. He took the bottle of pain pills from his pocket and set them on the coffee table.

The townhouse was quiet as the other occupants slept. Jim went to the sofa. He took off his sports coat, gun and holster, and stretched out, falling asleep almost immediately.

8:30 am

Sara unlocked the door and walked in, waking Jim up in the process.

"Morning," Jim said, stretching before standing.

"Morning, how is he?" Sara asked, removing her gun and vest.

"I got him to bed around six. He can't have any more pain meds for another hour at least:"

"I'm sure he'll tell me when he needs them," Sara said, looking at the label on the pill bottle.

"I'm leaving, but I'll call you later. They dropped off Grissom's Denali. Keys are in the dish. Try to talk to Roger, would you? He's feeling a little lost." Jim said, slipping on his coat, holster, and gun.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked., turning her focus to him.

"I'll let him tell you, " Jim said, taking her into his arms for a reassuring hug.

He kissed her cheek and then left her alone in the living room as he exited the townhouse. Sara stood for a minute and then walked to the kitchen. She stopped when she saw the three envelopes simply numbered one, two, and three. She opened the first one and sat on a stool, beginning to read.

My love,
I cannot imagine my life without you. Staying in Elko after you left were some of the loneliest days of my life. I know, now, that I wasn't ready to come home. I was still angry, hurt, and tired. I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk about that time, but I will now try to explain.

Sara felt the first tear roll down her cheek as she finished the first note. She opened the second one, and immediately noticed how sloppy the handwriting was. She frowned, trying to figure out when Grissom actually wrote the note. Her tears started again as she was caught up in his narrative. She didn't hear Roger walk into the living room. He stood in the doorway, watching her shaking back as she reached for the last note. She wiped her eyes, the tears falling so fast she could barely read. When she put the note down, Sara put her head in her hands. Walking to the sketchbook, Roger opened it to the sketches that Grissom drew after Sara and Jim left him at the cabin.

"This is what he was feeling when he was at Jim's cabin," Roger said, softly, placing the sketchbook in front of her.

Sara looked up at Roger and then at the book. She turned page after page, seeing herself as Grissom envisioned her leaving in the car, seeing his mother, battered, seeing his father, seeing the lab crew, and then finally seeing a beautiful woman and boy.

"Is this Martha and Jeremy?" Sara asked, looking at Roger to see his eyes full of tears.

He could only nod. Sara stood and held him, feeling his tears on her back as he cried softly.

"I'm so glad you and Grissom found each other. He needed someone." Sara said.

"I needed him, too," Roger whispered.

They held each other, connected by their love for the man asleep upstairs. Finally, Roger pulled back.

"I'm sorry, you must be exhausted."

"I am tired," she admitted, "I'll see you for lunch," Sara said, kissing him on the cheek before heading up the stairs to bed.

"I'll see what I can rustle up for us. Maybe Moss will feel up to eating something." Roger said, walking into the kitchen to make some coffee.

"Hi, are you okay?"

Grissom turned to look at her, tears softly sliding down his cheeks into his beard.

"I don't know." He replied honestly.

Sara hugged him, avoiding his arm, and kissed him as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. They stood together, just holding each other for several minutes before he stepped back and broke contact.

He wiped his eyes.

"Get some sleep," he said, heading for the door.

"You're not tired?" Sara asked.

"I just don't know, any more," Grissom answered and walked out of the bedroom.

Sara took a slow breath, trying to reassure herself that Grissom would be fine. She stripped and took a quick shower before slipping on one of his t-shirts and a fresh pair of underwear. She got into bed on his side, smelling him, and quickly fell asleep.

Grissom walked down the staircase. He walked toward the kitchen and stopped, not recognizing for a moment who was there. Roger turned around, feeling that someone was watching him. He saw the terror and confusion on Grissom's face and put his hands out.

"Morning, Moss, I think I should tell you, I'm in love with your girlfriend," Roger said, easily.

Grissom stared at him for another minute before realizing who he was.

"Nuncle, may I have some coffee, please?" he said, sitting at the bar.

"Sure," Roger said, pouring him a cup and setting it in front of him. "Are you okay? You don't look so good,"

"I don't know," Grissom repeated, sipping his coffee.

"That's not an answer, Moss. How is your hand? Does it hurt?" Roger asked.

Grissom looked at the tips of his fingers peeking out of the cast as if for the first time. He rested it on the bar but didn't answer Roger.

"What did your father do after he dragged you from the car?" Roger asked, changing gears.

Grissom looked up quickly and then shook his head.

"You know what he did. Tell me, please." Roger commanded.

Grissom looked into his coffee, lost in his thoughts for several minutes, before starting his story.

"We were a long way from home. He dragged me into a bar and got drunk." Grissom said, softly.

"Then what happened?" Roger asked.

"He stole a car and drove home," Grissom said, walking to the sofa.

He sat down and put his feet on the edge of the coffee table and leaned over his knees. His left hand was in a fist and he was shaking at the memory of it all.

"He drove drunk with you while your shoulder was broken? He just had you sit next to him, ignoring you and your pain?" Roger asked, incredulous.

Grissom remained silent, his left hand hitting the coffee table.

"Moss, what aren't you telling me?" Roger asked, walking up and sitting on the edge of the coffee table, grabbing Grissom's left hand suddenly.

"I was in the trunk. The bastard locked me in the trunk. I was in there until my mother found me two hours after we got home." Grissom said, the tears streaming down his face.

Roger reached for him and Grissom grabbed him tightly, ignoring the pain in his right hand.

"Moss, your father was a bad man. You were a good boy. You did nothing wrong. You didn't deserve any of it." Roger said, his tears now streaming down his face.

He held the younger man tightly, feeling his warm body shaking with every sob. Grissom started to gain control of his emotions and Roger felt his muscles tighten in his back.

"Nuncle, I don't feel very well," Grissom said, his face gray.

"Damn, my fault, come on," Roger said, helping him to his feet and then to the bathroom.

He held Grissom, much like the way Grissom had held him earlier, as he emptied his stomach. Roger rubbed his back, feeling how keyed up he was. He helped him to his feet and walked back into the living room. Grissom sat at the dining room table while Roger poured him a glass of cold water.

"Nuncle?"

"Yes, Moss,"

"I'm gonna go to the lab. I just need to ..." Grissom said, not able to complete his thoughts.

"It's nine-thirty; I'm coming to get you at noon, you should be okay to eat by then. Take your sketchbook," Roger said, handing him the book and his water.

"Thanks," Grissom said, slowly walking to the lab room.

Sara woke up and stretched. She smelled something wonderful yet unidentifiable. Slipping on a pair of sweats, she walked downstairs. Yo-Yo Ma played at a medium level in the speakers. She half-expected to see Grissom cooking. Looking into the kitchen, she saw Roger, sipping wine, cooking.

"Hi, what is that wonderful smell?" Sara said, walking into the kitchen and kissing him on the cheek.

"I made crpes. They have vegetables and cheese with a cream sauce. It's been fun, really. I haven't done this in years." Roger said, smiling.

"Where's Gil?" Sara asked.

"He got up around nine and said he had to be alone. He's in the lab room. He revealed more about his father." Roger said, his face darkening.

"What did he say?" Sara asked.

"He elaborated that his father locked him in the trunk of a car." Roger replied softly.

"Damn, all right, let me go and see what's going on. Are you ready for us, food-wise?" Sara asked.

"Sure, I am very flexible," Roger said, sipping his wine.

Sara smiled and walked out to the lab room. She let herself in and saw Grissom hunched over the drawing board, his headphones on. She stood behind him and started to tap the floor with her foot. A minute later he turned to look at her, removing the headphones.

"Roger has made a wonderful lunch. Are you hungry yet?" she asked leaning over to kiss him.

"I don't know," Grissom said, in a monotone, looking back to his watercolour blocks spread on his board.

Sara followed his gaze and was amazed at the imagery. He had painted Roger in his distress, Sara, when she looked at him upstairs, his father and himself, a raw self-portrait.

"Please Griss, while these are drying, please come and eat something. Roger made something special for us." Sara said.

"Okay, "Grissom said, standing, slightly unsteadily, and following her out of the lab room.

He stopped as he entered the living room and stared at Roger. Sara continued to the dining room table, not realizing that he wasn't behind her. Roger turned from the kitchen and saw that same terror in Grissom's face that he had when he had been thinking about his father.

"Moss, would you like some coffee?" Roger asked.

Grissom stared and then connected. "No, thank you, Nuncle. I think I'd better stay with water. Do you know if I can have a pain pill on an empty stomach?" he said, walking to the table.

"No, you need to be full," Sara answered.

"Okay," Grissom said quietly, as he sat at the table.

Roger brought three plates of crpes to the table and then walked back to get the water.

"I'm sorry, Roger, can I help you?" Sara asked.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Roger said, bringing back Sara's coffee, his wine and Grissom's water.

Finally they were all seated and began to eat their meal. Grissom was very quiet.

"Moss, you okay?" Roger asked, looking over to him.

"I painted today, Nuncle. I don't have the control to draw with this damn cast." He said softly.

"I'd like to see your watercolours. I was never any good. It was too fast a medium for me." Roger replied.

"They're remarkable," Sara offered quietly.

Yo-Yo Ma's cello resonated in the living room and the three linked souls ate their lunch and listened to the music.

Sara looked at Grissom and the way he was shifting his hand. She put a hand on his knee and smiled. He calmed for a bit and then fidgeted.

"Griss, you need to eat more before you can have the pain meds. You haven't eaten anything in twenty four hours." Sara said softly.

"Actually, I gave him some coffee when he came down earlier. It didn't stick," Roger said, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it Roger, it's a learning curve," Sara said with a smile.

"I'm still here," Grissom said loudly, glaring at the two of them.

"Yeah, and we're both trying to take care of you the best way we can, so show some respect," Roger said, strongly.

"I'm sorry, Nuncle." Grissom said softly, shifting his gaze to his plate.

"Apologize to Sara," Roger instructed.

"I'm sorry, Sara," Grissom said, the pain in his voice palpable now, as he looked at her.

"I accept your apology; would you get the water colours so Roger can see them?" Sara asked.

Grissom nodded and walked to the lab room. Roger looked at Sara, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I think he needs your approval," Sara said softly as she took the dishes to the kitchen.

Grissom walked back to the table and laid the four paintings out. There was no order, no fuss, just the watercolour blocks. He walked away from the table, standing near the sofa. Roger was stopped by the images.

"Oh, Moss," he said softly, standing to gain perspective as he looked at the paintings.

First he saw Sara in pain, then himself, then he recognized Grissom's father, the technique changed and was very loose, finally he saw Grissom, a self portrait.

"These are really good." Roger said, looking at the clarity of the subject.

"Griss, what's wrong?" Sara asked, seeing his colour pale and his legs give out, plopping him on the sofa.

"Pain, hand, please pill," he managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Roger handed her Grissom's water glass and she shook out the two pills that were the appropriate dosage.

"Okay, here are the pills. Now drink your water," she instructed.

Grissom drank the water and leaned back into the sofa, listening to the cello.

"Is he out?" Roger asked.

"Almost," Sara replied, watching Grissom closely.

"His father locked him in the trunk of the car and drove home drunk. It's amazing he's alive today." Roger said, happy to get that off his chest.

"Wait, what car?" Sara asked, lowering her eyebrows in frustration, looking up at him.

"After the accident, he went to a bar, got drunk and stole a car." Roger replied.

"What else did that son of a bitch do to him?" Sara asked, running her fingers through Grissom's grey curls as he seemed to sleep.

"Can't tell you, please," Grissom said, starting to hyperventilate.

She reached over and calmed him.

"Griss, I don't need to know. I just want you to sleep."

Grissom settled into the sofa, cradling his right arm. Sara kept her hand on his shoulder until it appeared he was asleep. She stood and looked at Roger, whose face was very pale.

"Roger? Are you all right?" she said, walking to stand in front of him.

"Sara...." Roger started, his voice catching in his throat.

"I've got you Roger. Everything is all right. You're watching him, and he's all right, too." Sara said, holding him, trying to give him the confidence he needed.

She eased Roger into one of the comfy chairs and he laid his head back on the cushion, his legs crossed at the ankles. Just when everyone was settling, the phone rang.

"Hello,"

"Hey, kiddo, how's it going?" Jim asked.

"Rough, right now. New revelations of Grissom's father, Roger is exhausted and Grissom is pumped up on pain pills. What do you have?" Sara asked.

"The Budweiser driver is going away without Grissom having to testify, I hope."

"That would be great. Jim? He painted today,"

"You're kidding? That's good, right?"

"I think that's very good."

Grissom slept on the sofa, his head back against the cushion. Roger slept in the chair by the stereo and Sara went out for a run. When she came back, the house was empty. Two notes were left on the countertop.

My love,
Took a drive, have my phone, back in a couple of hours,
GG

Sara,
Had something I needed to do. Made a salad for you. Back soon,
Roger

Sara looked at her watch, it was two-thirty. Sighing, she walked upstairs and took a shower. Slipping on her silk bathrobe, she came back down to the kitchen and took the salad and a bottle of water out of the fridge. Turning on the Discovery Channel, she lost herself in the world of marsupials.

Roger sat on the bench, feeling the cool damp stone through the fabric of his trousers. He stared straight ahead, his hands clasped together; elbows resting on his knees. Soft tears flowed down his face.

Grissom was tired, as he had been walking for almost two hours when a voice interrupted him.

"Moss?"

He stopped and looked towards the voice, seeing Roger sitting on a bench. Grissom walked towards him and sat down. He looked up and saw the object of Roger's concentration. Martha Eleanor McAllister born March 5, 1935 died February 22, 2000. Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of Martha's death. Grissom realized.

"Oh, God, Roger. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Grissom said, resting his left hand on Roger's knee.

Roger covered Grissom's hand with his and squeezed.

"I think you just did it, Gil. You called me Roger. You know who I am." He answered.

"Dr. Grissom? Is that you? Cemetery's closing, you can come back tomorrow." Benny, the groundskeeper said.

"Thanks, Benny, see you soon." Grissom said, standing.

He turned and reached his left hand to Roger, who took it and stood next to him. He walked to the headstone, put his hand to his lips and then touched the stone. Grissom walked up to him and put his arm around the older man's shoulders as they started to walk to the car. They got in and Grissom started the engine, he immediately hit CD1 and Yo-Yo Ma's soulful cello playing Suite No. 1 in G major filled the vehicle. Grissom heard an electronic chirp and pulled his cell phone from its position on the dash; four missed calls. He retrieved the list; two from Sara, one from Brass and a text message from his mother. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he dialed Sara.

"Sidle,"

"Hi, honey,"

"Where are you? It's five o'clock. Are you okay? Do you know where Roger is?" Sara asked.

"Roger's with me. We're on our way home; twenty minutes." Grissom replied.

"Okay, we'll talk then,"

"Bye,"

"Bye,"

Grissom dialed again and stole a look at Roger. His head was back on the headrest but it was difficult to see if he was asleep or not.

"Brass,"

"Hi,"

"Hi, yourself. Look I royally screwed up. The fifth anniversary of Martha's death was yesterday. Roger's a mess and I didn't remember."

"Relax, he's with me. He's okay," Grissom said, quietly.

"Where were you? Sara was very worried."

"We were at Palm Mortuary. I was there; well I go there to think, sometimes. Roger was there because he went to see Martha." Grissom explained.

"Oh, I see,"

"Look, I'm pulling into the driveway now. Can I talk to you later?" Grissom said, yawning.

"Sure, of course," Jim said.

"Bye,"

"Bye,"

5:30 pm

Grissom closed his phone and shut off the engine. He reached over to Roger and woke him. They got out of the Denali and walked up the stairs to the townhouse. Grissom unlocked the door and Roger walked in. Sara stood and went to him, embracing him tightly. Grissom shut the door behind him and started removing his keys, cell phone and wallet.

"I'm going to go lie down," Roger said, pulling back from her embrace to head for the guest room.

Sara looked at Grissom and saw the fatigue on his face.

"Sounds like a good idea. How's your hand?" she asked walking up to him.

"It hurts. I just want to go lie down." Grissom said.

"Let's go take a nap, Bugman." Sara said, reaching for the pain pills and slipping them in her pocket.

Grissom walked upstairs slowly with Sara in pursuit. He kicked off his loafers, dropped his trousers, and kicked them off. Sara helped him remove his sport coat and button down shirt. He walked into the bathroom, used it, and then washed his hands. She filled a glass with water and gave him one pain pill.

"It will just take the edge off. This is half the normal dosage. I know you haven't eaten anything, but you should be all right."

Grissom popped the pill and drank the water. He walked back into the bedroom and got into bed. Soon he was asleep. Sara took off her clothes and put on one of Grissom's t-shirts. She climbed into bed and pushed up to him, allowing him to spoon to her back. He moved slightly, resting his right arm on her hip. She listened to him breathe and fell asleep quickly.

"What's wrong, Griss?" she asked, not letting up on her grip.

"I can't keep it inside. I have to tell someone. I can't..." Grissom whispered.

"Okay sweetheart, okay, go ahead, I'm here, I'll listen." Sara said, shifting her position so she was sitting next to him on the cold tile floor.

"When my father drove into the intersection, he hit another car."

"Yes, and you broke your shoulder,"

"I broke my shoulder trying to get the people out of the car. They were an older couple. The door was jammed. I tried but I wasn't strong enough. He was but he wouldn't help. My father pulled me away. We weren't ten yards before their car burst into flames. He killed them, Sara." Grissom said softly.

Sara held him tightly, feeling the sobs rack his body as she started to cry as well. They held each other, desperately trying to offer comfort to one another. As she felt him calm, she turned his face to look at her.

"We need to go to bed," she said, pulling him to his feet.

"I don't know if I can sleep without the dreams," he said, not moving from the corner of the bathroom.

"I know you will sleep because I'll stay awake. Okay?" Sara stated, reaching her hand towards him, but letting him come to her.

After several minutes, Grissom reached his left hand out and trailed behind her back to bed. She got in from his side and lay on her back. He got into bed slowly, finally resting his head on her shoulder, his right arm across her hips, trying to sleep on his left side. Sara stretched her right arm out and anchored it just below his right shoulder. She slid her left hand down and gently rested it on his cast. His breathing slowed and soon he fell asleep.

Sara tried to stay awake as she had promised him, but she found it difficult. Grissom started to awaken; it had been about twenty minutes. She whispered to him, pulling him against her and he fell back asleep. For an hour, they played this odd game between his subconscious and her will. She was tired and the next time he started to wake up, she was asleep herself. He looked at the alarm clock and realized that they had to be at work in two hours. He eased out of bed and headed off to take a shower. Dropping his shorts, he turned on the water, pleased that he had a waterproof cast.

Lost in the heat of the shower and the roar of the two large heads, Grissom failed to hear the door open to the bathroom. A moment later, the glass door opened and Sara walked in.

"Hi, how did you sleep?" she asked, reaching her hand to his jaw and pulling him to her for a kiss.

"Mmmm, better I guess. I mean, I didn't dream anything." Grissom said, standing under one shower head.

Sara let the water run down her body and then opened her eyes to look at Grissom. He had his head back, washing his hair, his back slightly arched away from her. Not reading his emotions clearly, she took a chance and walked to him, letting her slick chest touch his, but nothing else. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked down at her. The lust in her eyes was unmistakable and caused his heart rate to spike a bit. Cautiously, he put his hand on her jaw, tracing her mouth with his thumb. It was their only contact. Their eyes were locked in a stare when not temporarily distracted by water from the shower. She yearned for more than his thumb as it edged into her mouth. She moaned as she sucked it slowly. Grissom moaned too but as a response to his hand, which had started to throb.

They had intimate foreplay down to an art, sometimes happier to tease the other to the edge of orgasm rather than straight sex. He listened to her, and felt the way her muscles tensed and her breathing increased. He removed his hand from her jaw and knelt in front of her. His cast hand, still above his heart, was now a happy participant, touching her hips gently. He kissed her belly, the water running over him, her breathing changing, and her stance open and waiting. He touched her and her breath caught. Focused, he touched her again and remained, feeling her move against his fingers. Her breathing increased and his lips moved down to her center, letting his tongue work as his other hand. She reached one hand to his head, running her fingers through his wet curls, gently touching his ears, which she knew were very sensitive. He groaned and it vibrated through her. He moved his mouth, starting to kiss her, and she moved his hand back to continue what his tongue had started. He increased his speed and she did as well.

"Want you," she panted as she became close.

"Want you more," he replied hoarsely, standing to kiss her breasts.

"How do you..." she started and then convulsed in orgasm.

She reached for his left hand, and pulled him into a kiss that started hard and went harder. She reached down for him, but he pulled away. Opening her eyes she looked at him. Grissom stood in the corner, his wariness palpable.

She slowly reached for his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

"I love you," Sara whispered over the sound of the shower.

Grissom couldn't reply, but held her tightly, feeling an ache that would not go away. After several minutes, he pulled back and turned off the water. He opened the door and stepped out to the bath mat, handing her a towel. They toweled dry in silence. He picked up his watch and slipped it on.

"It's eight-thirty," he remarked before walking into the bedroom to get changed for work.

Sara followed, and dressed as well. She picked up his pain medication and slipped it into her pocket. Grissom walked down the stairs to the living room.

"Hi, how do you feel?" Roger asked, sitting on the sofa.

"A bit murky from the pain meds, a little emotional maybe, and a little tired. How about you?" Grissom asked.

"I feel all right, thanks," Roger said.

Grissom looked at him and decided not to push it. He walked into the kitchen and started to make a quick dinner. He started to boil water for some cheese tortellini, while getting the extra vegetables to go into the sauce.

"Can I help?" Roger asked.

"Sure, I was going to make a roux and then add some cheddar cheese for a sauce, after cutting up some vegetables. I really can't do much with this hand. Recipe is taped to the inside of cabinet two." Grissom said, gesturing with his knife.

"Gotcha," Roger said, starting his task.

"What can I do?" Sara asked.

"You can set the table, please. Nuncle, would you like some wine? "Grissom asked over his shoulder.

"Yes, that would be wonderful," he replied.

"Got it," Sara rejoined.

They worked as a team getting dinner ready, finally settling at nine. The dinner was very quiet.

"I would like to toast my two hosts," Roger said, raising his glass.

Sara and Grissom blushed slightly.

"Secondly, I would like to say that I am going to stay with Jim for a while. You two need some time alone." Roger said, concentrating on his pasta.

The silence at the dinner table was palpable. Grissom finished first and took his plate to the kitchen. He walked into the lab room and shut the door. Sara finished clearing the table and went to the lab room. She knocked on the door and found Grissom sitting at his drawing board, staring at a sketch book in front of him. Hugging him from behind, she pulled him out to the living room.

Roger was doing the dishes quietly in the kitchen.

"Roger?" Grissom asked, standing on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Roger turned and looked at him.

"Please don't go home without letting me see you again." Grissom said softly.

"I won't. You're going to be late to work. You'd better hustle," Roger said, returning to his dishes.

Grissom sighed quietly and picked up his keys, gun, cell phone, and beeper, waiting for Sara. She walked to Roger and gave him a peck on the cheek before gathering her things.

"Shall we go?" Sara asked.

"I guess," Grissom said, "'Night, Roger,"

"Goodnight, you two. Be safe," Roger called from the kitchen.

"Evening Grissom, Sara. Sir, you have messages," Judy said, from the behind the reception desk.

"Thanks," Grissom said, reaching awkwardly with his right hand.

"See you in the Break Room," Sara said, peeling off to go to the locker room.

Grissom nodded and headed to his office. Unlocking his door, he walked in, turned on the lights, and proceeded to his desk. He removed his coat and sat at his desk, turning on his computer. He retrieved the assignments and printed them while laying out his phone messages; Doc, Rory, Andy, Jim, and Dr. Wu. When the printer was finished, Grissom took the pages and walked out to the Break Room.

Sara, Greg, and Sofia sat at the table in relative silence. A mug with the logo,' If there's no bugs, the body's still fresh!' written on the side had been placed in front of Grissom's traditional seat and smelled of herbs. Grissom walked in and sat down, careful not to jar his hand.

"Thanks for the tea, Greg," Grissom said, looking at the assignments but breathing in the vapours from the tea.

"Dr. Wu sent new herbs yesterday." Greg said softly.

Grissom grunted as he continued to read the assignments. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

"Okay, Sofia, you have a trick roll on the Strip. Greg, you have a db at Mutt's liquor store. Should be fairly straightforward but if there is anything out of the ordinary, call me. Sara, suspicious death at Evergreens," Grissom said, handing them their papers.

"The retirement facility?" Sara asked.

"Yes, someone has died and there is some question as to how." Grissom said, sipping his tea slowly.

"Okay," Sara said, reading the notes.

"I'll be in my office; can't do much with this hand, right now. Call me if you need me; any of you, all right?" Grissom asked.

The three criminalists nodded quietly as they read their assignments. Grissom sighed, picked up his tea and walked back to his office. He shut the door behind him and walked to his desk, noting a message waiting light on his phone. He dialed his code and smiled before hanging up and picking up the phone again.

"Morgue,"

"Hi,"

"Are you here for shift? I need to talk to you." Doc Robbins asked.

"I'm on desk duty unless all hell breaks loose until I get the cast off. Come up when you have time." Grissom answered, taking the messages from Doc, crunching them into a ball and tossing them into the trash.

"Thanks, bye,"

"Bye," Grissom said, hanging up the phone.

He redialed and sat back in his chair, sipping the tea.

"Brass," a tired voice answered.

"Hey,"

"Oh, hi, Gil. Sorry, shitty night. I'm on my way to your house to pick up Roger. Is everything okay with you guys?"

"What do you mean? He told me he was staying with you to give Sara and me more space. Damnit!" Grissom exclaimed, sitting up quickly.

"Easy, buddy. He's my friend, too, and I dropped the ball big time with him this time. I need to do this, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. But Jim, don't let him go back to Elko without seeing me, please." Grissom requested, slowly sitting back in his chair.

"No problem. Look, I've gotta go. I'll talk to you tomorrow, I've got the night off." Brass said.

"Okay, bye,"

"Bye,"

Grissom hung up the phone and threw the messages away. Looking on his desk, he reached for the CD player and pressed 'play', listening to Yo-Yo Ma. Shoving his unanswered messages to the side, he reached into a desk drawer and removed a small note card with a butterfly on it. He took a sip of tea and wrote Sara a letter. When he had finished, he walked into the locker room and slipped it into her locker. Smiling, he headed back to his office. He logged onto his computer and replied to his mother's text message carefully. He knew she wouldn't read it until tomorrow, but he didn't want to raise any flags with her either. Pressing send, he waited a few moments, and then he turned his computer off and buried himself in paperwork.

2:00 am Saturday

Doc Robbins knocked on Grissom's door and waited politely. After a minute, he knocked again and then walked in. Grissom was still listening to his CD player, but he was elbow deep in paperwork. Sitting heavily in the chair nearest the desk, Doc laid his crutch on the floor.

"Gil?"

Grissom looked up, startled, and turned off the CD player. He looked at his desk to collect himself and then looked up at his visitor.

"Hi, sorry,"

"No need to apologize. Look, at the risk of upsetting you, I wanted to talk about the accident yesterday. You, Brass, and I were, I think, the only people who saw the victims. Can we talk about it?" Doc asked softly.

Grissom stood slowly, walked around his desk and sat in the other leather chair opposite Doc. He started to tell his story, pausing when the imagery was too dark or painful.

"Thank you, I couldn't understand. The damage was so violent; I didn't read Jim's report until after I did the autopsy and I still felt an unrest. How are you?" Doc asked, looking at the tired man opposite him.

"The older I get, the more I remember about my childhood." Grissom said, mysteriously.

"You want to talk?"

"I can't, here, now. I need to be able to go out to the team. They're depending on me." Grissom said, standing.

"Gil, we've been through this before. You need to look out for yourself, too, or you'll get blindsided."

"I know, Al. Thanks for reminding me." Grissom said, reaching for Doc's crutch.

Doc stood and took his crutch from Grissom's easy grasp.

"I've spoken to Andy, and so did Brass. You may want to talk to him, too." Doc said, walking to the door, and then turning to look at him.

Grissom stood silently, watching his friend leave, waiting to hear the door shut, feeling the anger grow again.

Sara had been back from the senior home for more than two hours. She had logged in her evidence and then sent it to the appropriate lab units for review. Finally, after a cup of Greg's Hawaiian coffee, she had a minute to go check on Grissom. Sara knocked on his door, but there was no response. She had seen his car in the employee's lot, so he was still at the lab. She knocked once more before walking in. The room lights were off, but the desk light was on, as was the monitor on his computer. Grissom was stretched out on the sofa and his cast was missing, replaced by an ace bandage. His face was dry and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"Griss?" she asked, gently running her hands through his curls.

Suddenly, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed her arm. She rejected the impulse to pull back her arm; instead, she lifted her right hand to his chest and started to rub circles. He relaxed and released her arm, calming quickly. She continued to rub circles on his chest, finally feeling his muscles change as he struggled to consciousness... she removed her hand.

He opened his eyes suddenly, staring at her with no comprehension. He sat up quickly, resting his head back against the cushion of the sofa, his breathing rapid. Sara waited him out, moving to sit next to him, but turning so her body was facing him.

"Please leave," Grissom whispered.

Sara changed her shirt, washed her face again and headed back to Grissom's office. She knocked on the door, but after hearing no response, she tried the doorknob; it was locked.

"He left about ten minutes ago." Lydia, one of the new lab technicians, said as she walked by.

"Thanks," Sara said.

She sighed, checked that her phone was still on, and returned to process the evidence.

Grissom pulled into the Las Vegas Police Department, still not knowing exactly why he was there. He walked to the front desk, but the Sergeant was busy and the other officer seemed intent on the sprinkles on his donut. Grissom started to pace and hum while he waited politely until someone would talk to him.

"Grissom?" a voice said, breaking into his mojo.

Grissom turned and saw Andy. When Andy saw Grissom's face, coupled with his missing cast, he knew something had happened. Carefully taking Grissom's left elbow, he guided him into an interrogation room.

"I'm getting you some water. Stay here," Andy said, clearly.

He left Grissom and walked to the front desk, informing them of his whereabouts and asking them to locate Brass. He took four bottles of water from the fridge at reception and walked back in. Not surprising, Grissom was up and pacing. Andy opened a bottle of water, placing it on the desk. Grissom didn't stop. He was thinking about something. Andy pushed the pad and pencil, showing them again to Grissom, and stood in the corner. Grissom stopped and looked at the pad. He walked to the table and sat down; pulling the pad to him, he started to draw.

6:00 am
Andy stood outside the room and headed off Brass when he arrived with Roger in tow.

"Something's happened, I just don't know what it is. He came here about half an hour ago, cast gone, very angry. What do you know?"

"Nothing, I had the night off." Brass said, looking at the floor.

"Jim, what happened?"

"He seemed upset that maybe he had upset Roger. But when I got off the phone with him he said he was okay." Jim revealed.

"Hmmm, well he's been drawing for half an hour. You guys can go into observation, Jim you know the drill." Andy said, slipping back into the room.

He put a scotch tape dispenser on the table and left Grissom alone again. Grissom hadn't registered his existence.

7:20 am

Andy walked back into the room and sat in the corner, watching Grissom tape up his sketches like movie storyboards. Finally, when they were up, he took the open bottle of water in his left hand and drank it, while pacing in front of the images. Andy stood slowly and started at the left, looking at each image. They didn't need captions, they were very explicit. It was the story of Grissom in 1964 and the car accident. The boy in the car. The accident. The old couple. The boy trying to get the old couple out of the car. The terror. The old couple in the distance. The next drawing was covered in angry slashes, the image beneath now obscured. The next image was a bar. The Chevy Impala. The trunk. His mother. The minivan. The carnage. The driver in the truck. The driver on the ground. The driver on the ground unconscious. Roger in tears. Brass in tears. Sara in tears. Grissom, self-portrait, in agony.

When Andy reached the last image, Grissom sank into a chair at the table, as if keeping himself upright for commentary. Andy walked to him quickly. Reaching into his pocket, Andy retrieved a vial of smelling salts and wafted it under Grissom's nose. Grissom coughed. He looked at Andy and his surroundings.

"So, you wanted to talk?" Andy asked.

Grissom looked at him briefly before struggling to his feet. He put his left hand in his pants pocket and started to pace, humming. Andy stood there and watched for a few minutes.

"Grissom, what's happened?" Andy asked.

Grissom didn't stop. The sweat now started to become visible through his shirt and on his face. His cell phone rang. Grissom stopped, looked at the screen, and threw it as hard as he could with his wrapped right hand against the viewing two-way mirror, breaking the phone into hundreds of parts. Minutes later, Brass's phone rang.

"Brass,"

"It's me, do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, kiddo, he's here at PD with Andy, trying to have a session. Let's say, that it's not going well." Brass explained.

"I'm off duty. I'm on my way."

"Sara, come into the observation room." Brass warned.

"Thanks, Jim," Sara said, hanging up the phone.

Jim closed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, turning back to the show on the other side of the two-way glass. Roger left the observation room and walked into the interrogation room. He closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it before walking to the nearest corner.

"Gil, what happened today?"

Grissom stopped and looked at him, shaking his head.

"What set you off?" Andy asked and then stopped. "You talked to Al, didn't you?"

Grissom looked at him and nodded silently. Jim slipped into the room.

"Did you go to Slim's today?" Jim asked softly.

Grissom looked at him and touched his bandaged right hand, nodding.

"Did Tommy take off the cast?"

Again Grissom nodded.

"Did you box?" Andy asked.

Grissom nodded with a small smile.

"Does your hand hurt?" Andy asked.

Grissom shrugged.

"What did you remember, Moss?" Roger asked.

The relaxed Grissom was replaced by the nervous, angry man. He resumed pacing, his left hand curled into a fist.

"I hate to do this, but I can't see any other way." Brass said softly to Andy, stepping into Grissom's path, pushing him away toward the wall.

"Come on, tough guy, answer the question." Jim ordered, his voice low and menacing in the small room.

"No," Grissom said softly.

"Scared?" Jim asked, taunting, shoving him hard against the wall.

Grissom stepped in quickly and threw a left hook that decked Jim instantly. Jim fell to the floor; although he anticipated the punch, he hadn't managed to avoid much of the force. Grissom looked at him and walked up to Roger, putting his hands around his neck, sobbing on his shoulder. As Grissom's energy began to wane, Roger's knees began to give.

"Jim, Andy, I can't hold him up." Roger pleaded.

Andy helped Roger to get Grissom to the table. Grissom's head was in his hands, and his tears were subsiding.

Jim pulled up the chair opposite, his right jaw bruised, and his face red.

"Gil, what did you remember?" Jim prompted.

Grissom looked up at him, shaking his head, his hands in fists on the table. Roger sat next to him and slid his arm across Grissom's shoulders. Gaining from the strength, he started to speak.

"I got out of the car and ran to them. They looked at me and screamed for me to get help, but I couldn't move. I tried to open the doors but they were stuck. I asked if the doors were unlocked but they couldn't hear me because she started to scream. The engine had caught fire. I felt the heat but I couldn't leave the car. Someone pulled my right arm and dragged me from the scene. The car exploded about ten seconds later. He saved my life. The explosion threw me against the light post. My shoulder really hurt. He grabbed my arm again and dragged me to the bar. He made me drink vodka; one shot, he said to steady my nerves. He steadied his for another ten drinks before we left. He stole a Chevy Impala and the pain in my shoulder became intense. He locked me in the trunk because I was too loud. I woke up later, when my Mom opened the trunk." Grissom said in a soft, monotonous tone.

Roger held him close, mindful of his injured hand.

"Remember what I told you?" Roger asked, his mouth close to Grissom's ear.

"I was a good boy who did nothing wrong," Grissom recited.

"Yes, you tried to save those people. But you were a child and couldn't do it alone."

Grissom stood suddenly and looked at the mirror. He raised his hand and signed <I'm sorry>. The other men looked at him and looked at the mirror, not understanding immediately.

"Why did you have Tommy take off your cast?" Jim asked.

"Because you needed to bleed off your anger. You couldn't run, or go to the range or box with that cast on. You knew that none of us would help, nor would the hospital." Andy said.

Grissom nodded, still looking at the mirror.

"Okay, Gil, you can go. I want to see you twice a week until you get settled. Call me tomorrow to start to schedule. Jim I'm seeing you in an hour. Roger, are you okay?" Andy asked.

"I need some sleep; after that, then we'll see." Roger answered honestly.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Sara walked in, standing to the side, unsure of how to proceed, not seeing the phone detritus on the floor. Grissom turned to look at her, the pain on his face evident. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter from the locker and placed it over her heart with a small smile. He walked to her quickly, embracing her and burying his face in her hair.

"Grissom, let's go home," Sara suggested.

"Sara, I...I need to be alone for a while. I'm sorry, I just don't have the strength right now for the two of us. I wish I was stronger for you, but I can't do this; I can't be there for you right now. I am so sorry." He said, unable to raise his eyes to look at her.

"Gil, it's okay; private time, I understand. Since your car is at Jim's office, I'll call you later to come by and pick you up, okay?" Sara said, sadly.

"Right, uhm, okay, I'll talk to you later," Grissom said, not moving or looking at her.

Sara turned and walked out of the house to go sit in her car. The tears started as soon as she sat down.

"Gil, it's Jim, pick up the phone. Come on buddy, I need to know you're okay. Please, call me." Jim's voice came through Grissom's machine.

Grissom stood, his hand aching, the fatigue tugging at him, but his anxiousness kept him awake. He started to pace, his left hand in his trouser pocket, his right hand at his side. He lost track of time until the doorbell rang. He walked to the door and opened it; Brass walked in and shut the door behind him. He went to the bar and poured himself some Jameson's, removing his gun, cell phone, and pager, before sitting on the stool. Grissom resumed his pacing in silence. Frowning, Jim located the remote and turned on the stereo, watching Grissom relax when he heard the music. Jim moved to the leather chair near the stereo and sat down, his feet up on the ottoman, sipping his whiskey and watching Grissom pace. Finally he started to slow down. He moved to the sofa and lay down on his back, his breathing slowing as he fell asleep. Jim stood up and walked to the chair nearest Grissom before resettling. He sat back, his glass on his chest, and listened.

Not one to disappoint, Grissom's first nightmare started only thirty minutes after he fell asleep. Jim reached over and calmed him. After four hours, Grissom settled into a deep sleep, as did Brass.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry," Grissom said in his sleep.

Jim woke up and reached for him.

"Easy, Gil, I'm okay. Everything's fine," Jim soothed.

Grissom opened his eyes and looked at the bruise on his chin. He shook his head slightly and sat up. He put his head in his left hand and sighed.

"Gil, look at me. I'm fine. I started the fight. I goaded you into it. I needed you to hit me. You did nothing wrong. I asked for it." Jim explained.

Grissom looked over to him for confirmation and remembered.

"I'm a tough guy?" he asked with a small smile.

"It got to you, didn't it?" Jim asked, grinning.

"Oh, yeah," he said, sighing again, putting his head back in his hands. "I'm going up to bed. You don't have to stay. I'm fine."

"Really? You've been pretty wound up," Jim pointed out.

"I'm tired, I need to sleep." Grissom said, standing and walking up the stairs.

Jim watched him walk upstairs and decided to agree with him. He picked up his gun, phone, and pager, and left the townhouse.

My love, I am so sorry to have driven you away tonight. I didn't want to burden you with memories of my childhood. But I realized that I don't want to be alone right now. I misplaced my cell phone but I know you'll find me.

I want nothing in life but you, cello music, Maker's Mark and edamames. I love you implicitly, and exclusively with a consuming desire.

Love G

He sealed the envelope and walked back into the living room. Locating his keys and his wallet, he called for a cab and left his townhouse, waiting on the curb. Ten minutes later, a cab pulled up and he headed for Sara's apartment.

Letting himself in, he found the apartment silent. Quietly, he walked to her bedroom and discovered Sara in a deep sleep. He took the note from his pocket and set it against her alarm clock. He resisted the impulse to kiss her and left her softly snoring.

Walking back into the living room, he walked into the kitchen. The pain in his hand was manageable, but the anxiousness would keep him awake. He pulled a bottle of Maker's Mark from the cabinet and poured a hefty portion, topping it off with tap water. He stood, his back against the fridge, and drank his drink thoughtfully. Finally, he felt his body and his brain start to relax. He set the glass on the counter and walked to the sofa. Slipping off his loafers, he stretched out on his stomach and fell asleep.

Sara woke up without the alarm clock. She looked over to see the time and saw Grissom's note. Lying in bed she read it, tears welling up until she finished the note. She got out of bed, used the bathroom, pulled on a pair of sweats, and walked into the living room to see Grissom sleeping on the sofa. She walked to him and kissed his forehead, letting him sleep. Sara walked into the kitchen and made coffee, keeping an eye on her sleeping houseguest.

Grissom woke himself from a quiet nightmare to see Sara reading a copy of Forensics Monthly in a chair near him. She was sipping coffee, wearing headphones, and tapping her left foot to the music. He sat up, holding his right hand to his chest. The movement caught her eye and she removed her headphones.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he replied, looking at the ceiling.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, setting the magazine down on the coffee table, directing all of her attention to him.

Grissom remained silent, looking at her now, not trusting himself to answer. His blue eyes were full of emotion that was easy for her to read. She walked to the sofa and sat with him, their hips touching. He stood suddenly and walked away from her. She sighed audibly and followed him into the kitchen. He turned quickly, his hands taking her shoulders; the pain still evident in his eyes.

"Sara, Honey, can we go to bed? I mean can we just hold each other, for now." Grissom said, as nervous as a schoolboy.

"Sure Griss, I'd like that." Sara replied, reaching her hand around his waist.

They walked to her bedroom. She felt for the tails of his polo shirt and gently pulled it over his head. She took off her sweats and pulled off her t-shirt as he removed his khakis, letting them fall to the floor. Sara lay down on top of the sheets. Grissom lay down on his back next to her.

"Roll over," she instructed.

"Beethoven," Grissom joked, but then did as she asked, turning onto his side.

He felt her hands come up his back and hold him tightly against her, the warmth of her bare skin on his. He sighed and reached his left arm to pull her closer to him.

Grissom rolled over and realized that he was alone in Sara's bed. He stood up, dressed just in his boxers, and walked into the living room. The apartment was quiet and he knew he was alone. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull a bottle of water out and saw the note.

Sweetheart, I went for a run, back soon. I love you. Drink some water and
take a nap, you need it.

Love, Sara

Grissom opened the bottle of water and, leaning against the fridge, reread her note. His hand ached as he remembered he didn't rewrap it after his shower at home. He padded back to the bathroom and tapped out three Aleve, not remembering where the pain pills were, swallowing them with the remainder of his water. He walked back to the living room and turned on Sara's stereo. He turned it to radio and dialed his favourite station. Settling into a comfortable chair, he picked up a magazine and started to read about a new forensics technique.

Sara let herself into her apartment, smiling when she heard the soft jazz music play from her stereo. Grissom was asleep, the magazine on his chest. She walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the fridge, noting her note on the counter top. Finishing the water, she headed for the bathroom to take a shower, but couldn't resist running her fingers through his hair for a moment. Grissom opened his eyes slowly and smiled. He sat up, putting the magazine down on the side table before standing to face her.

"I love you, too." He said, his left hand to her face, drawing her in for a kiss.

She reached for him, sliding both hands over his ribs, settling on his back. His right arm hung by his side, but then he moved it, clumsily laying it across her shoulder. She pulled back to look at him.

"Sorry, I didn't wrap it and it hurts." Grissom explained.

"Did you take something for the pain?"

"Yeah, about an hour ago,"

"I need to take a shower, nap, and have dinner," Sara announced.

"Uhm, okay, I'll make dinner I guess." Grissom said, turning away from her.

"You don't want to join me?" Sara asked, walking up to him.

"Please, I can't right now." Grissom said, his back to her, holding his right hand up on his chest.

"Easy, sweetheart, I'll take a shower and then maybe we can cuddle before dinner? Okay?" Sara asked , reaching her arm to his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze.

Grissom was silent, his hand throbbing, his memories returning. Sara kissed his shoulder and left him alone in the living room before going to take her shower. When she returned to the living room twenty minutes later, the apartment was empty. She tried calling Grissom's cell phone, but it just rang and never went to voice mail. She called his house, but he didn't pick up the phone.

"Okay, dinner will be ready when you come out," Roger said from the kitchen.

Jim headed to his bathroom and Roger returned his concentration to the dinner at hand.

The doorbell rang and Roger went to answer it. Grissom stood, staring at the ground, holding his hand against his chest. Roger slipped his arm around him and guided him into the apartment.

Roger helped Grissom into a comfortable leather chair and crouched by him.

"Moss, what's happened?" Roger asked.

Grissom looked down at the floor and said nothing. Roger stood and looked at his watch. It was almost seven; three hours until shift began. He heard the shower stop and walked back to the kitchen, warily watching his charge. Ten minutes later Jim walked in, stopping in the hall doorway when he saw Grissom sitting in his living room.

"Hiya, Pal," he said.

Grissom ignored him. Jim looked at Roger, who simply shook his head. Jim looked back to Grissom and then he picked up the phone and called Rory.

"Atwater,"

"Hi, it's Jim Brass,"

"Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?"

"Grissom's taking the night off."

"He hasn't returned my call. When's he next scheduled to talk to Andy?"

"Tomorrow, after shift,"

"Move it up. I need Gil up and functional. Keep me informed." Sheriff Atwater ordered before hanging up the phone.

"Night to you too, Sheriff." Brass said, closing his phone.

"What's up?" Roger asked from the kitchen.

"Rory wants him back to work as soon as possible; wants me to call Andy, now." Jim said, staring at his friend.

"You've got nothing to lose," Roger pointed out.

Jim looked at him and sighed before dialing Andy's number.

"Hays,"

"It's Jim Brass. Sheriff Atwater has requested you pay a house call to Grissom. He's at my house."

"Trouble?"

"We don't know, he just showed up, hasn't said a word."

"Where's Sara?"

"I don't know. Home, I guess, I haven't called her." Jim said, realizing his mistake.

"Call her, see what she knows. I'm on my way." Andy said, hanging up the phone.

Jim depressed the bar on the phone and then dialed Sara.

"Hello?" a timid voice answered.

"Hi, kiddo, missing someone?" Jim asked, trying to be upbeat after hearing her voice.

"Oh, Jim, thank God. I've been so worried. I'm on my way." Sara replied.

"Sara, honey, I think he just needs to be alone right now." Jim said, looking at the figure in the chair across the room.

"Well, he's not alone if he's with you and Roger." Sara said, her anger rising.

"That's true, but he hasn't said a word since he got here. He hasn't even acknowledged us. Andy's on his way over. Did something happen? Did you two have a fight?" Jim asked.

"No, I came home from a run. I said I needed to take a shower, have a nap, and then dinner before work. He seemed restless and said he would make dinner. When I came out of the shower he was gone." Sara said, tears streaming down her face.

"Okay, I'll tell Andy. I called Rory and told him Grissom was taking the night off so it's you and me, kiddo. I'll see you tonight."

"Take care of him, Jim."

"I will, you can count on it." Jim said.

"Night,"

"Night," Jim said, hanging up the phone.

Roger had plated the chicken breasts with rice and peas and set them on the dinner table. As usual, a cup of coffee was at Jim's place setting, Roger had a glass of wine. Grissom remained in his chair, staring at the floor, his elbows on his knees. Jim and Roger sat down to dinner in silence. Ten minutes later, the buzzer rang and Grissom shot out of the chair and walked toward Jim's bedroom. Jim opened the door and ushered Andy in.

"Well, he hasn't said a word, but when you buzzed he got up and walked that away," Jim said, pointing to the hallway.

"Give me a minute with him," Andy said, taking off his sport coat, seeing the half-eaten dinner and Roger's pale face. "Hi, Roger,"

"Hi, Andy,"

Andy walked into the hallway and heard nothing. He began a room to room search, finally arriving in the guest room. He heard a soft noise and walked to the bed to turn on a lamp. Grissom was sitting on the floor in the corner behind the door. When the light came on, he stood quickly, realizing he was trapped. His hands came up in boxing stance and his eyes darkened.

"Stay away from me," Grissom said in a low voice.

"Grissom, it's me, Andy," he said, raising his hands up.

Grissom stood, his breathing reduced to panting as he started to shake.

"Okay, relax, it's just a panic attack. Remember what to do?" Andy asked in a soothing voice.

"No," he managed to get out, his hands still in fists in front of him.

Andy stayed out of range but walked closer.

"No, stay away from me,"

"What do you want, Grissom?" Andy asked still keeping his voice soft.

Grissom slid to the floor, his right hand awkwardly upright above his heart as his left hand ran through his hair before massaging his temple. Andy crouched in place, trying to read the signs that Grissom was sending, but still not understanding. He waited for a moment and then he realized what he thought he was trying to say. Standing slowly, he left Grissom alone and walked out to the living room. Roger and Jim had finished their dinner and were quietly sipping their respective drinks.

"Roger, I think he needs to talk to you and I think you know why. You're not his father but,"

"But he wishes I was," Roger said, looking into his wine glass. "When I first met him in Elko, we felt a certain connection."

Roger stood slowly and walked back into the bedroom with Andy following him at a distance. He walked in, but didn't see Grissom at first. Hearing a soft sound, he turned and saw him behind the door. Roger paused, trying to block out the reason why this man would be cowering in a corner.

"Hi," Roger said, his voice barely audible.

Grissom said nothing but continued to massage his temple.

"Are you okay? I mean, can I help you?" Roger asked, continuing to stand.

Andy drew his attention and motioned that he needed to sit in a chair or on the floor to get closer to Grissom and appear less threatening. Roger pulled up a chair and sat down, his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

"Moss, I need you to look at me, please," Roger commanded softly.

Slowly, Grissom raised his head to look at the other man. His eyes were red and the pain was unmistakable

"What can I do to help you? I want to help you. Please tell me." Roger said, softly.

Grissom moved slowly, getting to his knees and moving towards Roger. Roger dropped to his knees, thankful for the carpet, and opened his arms to the younger man. Grissom felt his embrace as his chest touched Roger's and he began to relax. They held each other, Roger still not understanding exactly what had brought Grissom to Jim's house that night. Grissom sat back on his heels, his eyes closed and he again massaged his temple.

"Grissom, is it a migraine?" Andy asked.

Grissom shook his head slowly. Andy knitted his brow in concentration and walked over to his side, kneeling as well. He reached for Roger's hand and brought it to Grissom's temple. Roger felt the slight depression as Grissom's hand held onto his wrist.

"What did the bastard do to you?" Roger said, the anger in his voice evident.

"It was my fault," Grissom said, the fatigue manifesting itself in his voice.

"No, it wasn't your fault. An adult should never hit a child. What did he use?"

"It wasn't him." Grissom said, his voice soft as he relaxed into Roger's massage.

Andy looked at Roger and then back at Grissom.

"Grissom, if it wasn't your father, then who hit you?" Andy asked.

"Mr. Matthews," Grissom answered, bitterly, opening his eyes at the memory, but casting them downwards.

"Who was, Mr. Matthews?" Roger asked.

"He was the science teacher at school,"

"What happened?" Andy asked.

"I questioned his technique in biology class. He told me to stay after school so I could explain what I meant. He hit me with his cane; he had shattered his leg in a car accident as a young man so he walked with a black cane. When I woke up, I was alone in the lab, the gas was on and the alarms were sounding."

Andy and Roger looked at each other and Andy shook his head.

"And you never told anyone?" Andy asked.

Grissom shook his head slowly.

"Why did you come here, Moss?" Roger asked.

Grissom became very still except for his left hand, which curled into a fist. Andy recognized this signal and motioned to Roger to help Grissom sit on the chair that Roger had vacated.

"Come on, Grissom, let's get up off the floor, okay?" Andy suggested.

Grissom allowed himself to be manhandled into the chair, his body language screaming his fear to Andy. Roger sat on the edge of the bed, briefly noting the sounds of Jim doing the dishes in the other room.

"Grissom, you didn't answer Roger's question." Andy directed.

"I'm sorry," he replied, his elbows on his knees, his face in his left hand.

"No problem. What brought you here today?"

"I can't...I keep...I'm scared..." Grissom said, his breath catching.

"Easy, it's okay. One thought at a time; nice and easy," Andy directed.

"I can't...have her near me. I keep remembering my childhood. I'm scared of hurting her." Grissom said, finally getting it off his chest.

Roger got to his feet and walked out to the living room where Jim was smoking a cigarette.

"Well?"

Roger poured himself a glass of wine and drank half of it before responding.

"This poor guy had no friends growing up. Everyone was a bully. Now, as he starts to remember it all, he's scared that he's a bully, too, and he'll start hurting Sara."

"What? He loves her so much it hurts to be around him, sometimes." Jim said, before he had a chance to censor his mouth.

Roger looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you have any stationary? I think he needs to write something to Sara."

"Sure, hang on," Jim said, walking to the desk in the corner.

He returned with two ecru sheets, an envelope, and a pen, and handed them to Roger.

"Thanks,"

"Roger, I have to leave in a half an hour to get some stuff done before shift."

"I'll let you know how he's doing." He replied, taking one last sip before setting his glass down on the table.

"Thanks,"

Roger smiled and walked into the hallway that led to the bedroom. He caught the last few words of Andy's answer to Grissom's admission. Grissom shook his head in disagreement.

"Moss?" Roger asked.

Grissom turned his head to look at Roger.

"You love her, right?"

"Yes, I, love, Sara," Grissom said, hanging on every word.

"You have never hurt anyone for sport."

"No, never," his eyes locked with Roger's.

"You would never hurt a woman or a child simply because you are stronger."

"No, never," he replied, the tears streaming down his face.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a good boy, who did nothing wrong," Grissom replied shyly.

"You need to write your feelings for Sara in a love letter. You didn't mean to, but you you've hurt her feelings. I know you can write it; you've painted your love for her, haven't you? Jim has squared it so you don't have to work tonight. When you're done, I'll be in the living room." Roger said, leaving Grissom and Andy alone.

"What set you off?" Andy asked after a few moments.

"The apartment buzzer, I think," Grissom said, wiping his eyes to look at the blank paper in his hand.

"You okay?"

"Hell, Andy. I don't know. It's like I've been knocked off-axis. I just can't find my equilibrium." Grissom said softly.

"I think you need to see Dr. Wu tomorrow and then catch up with Sara in the afternoon. In the meantime, I think Roger has given you some very good marching orders. Take care, Grissom. You're going to be fine. Oh, and this has been tomorrow's session, if you can follow that!" Andy said, standing.

"Thanks," Grissom said, his mind now creating the perfect love letter.

Andy walked out to find Jim slipping on his holster and gun.

"Well?"

"He needs to see Dr. Wu and then spend some time with his girlfriend, and he will pass through this phase. I have to tell you, though, he's such a visual and emotional guy that I think the next six months are going to be rocky for him. Just keep in touch. He's going to need both of you." Andy said, rubbing his right eye.

"We'll be there for him," Roger answered, sipping his wine.

"Well then, I'm off to work. Jim, I'll see you later. Roger, pleasure meeting you. You're very good with him."

"Thanks, I care for him a lot and I guess it shows."

"Oh, yeah," Andy said and then walked out of the apartment.

"You okay? I'm off work at eight barring any catastrophe."

"No, I'm fine. We'll be here all night, I think." Roger said.

"Well, then, good night, and call me if you need to." Jim said, walking to the door.

"Safe night,"

"Your lips to God's ears," Jim said with a smile, and left the apartment.

Roger poured himself some more wine and sat at the table, losing himself in the silence of the apartment.

"Roger, uhm, would you read this?" Grissom said, startling him slightly.

"Sure, do you need anything? Are you hungry or thirsty?" Roger asked, reaching for the letter.

"No, I'm just going to sit here for a minute. I have a headache." Grissom said, sitting gently on the leather sofa, his head resting against the back cushion of cool fabric.

Roger sipped his wine and was immediately drawn to the honest, open, passionate letter. It reminded him of the letters that Martha wrote to him. He set Grissom's letter down and reached into his wallet to retrieve a fragile piece of blue paper.

My only love,

As I lie here in this god-forsaken place, I see the toll it is taking on you and I feel as if the cancer is killing me twice. Please, please, take care of yourself. I love you more than I have loved anyone. I wish Jeremy was here to help you. I don't want you to be alone. Please promise me, you'll find someone. I can't bear the thought of you alone. You are a good man and I love you desperately.

Xxoo M

He folded it back carefully, placed it back in his wallet, and looked at Grissom, now sleeping on the sofa. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was eight thirty. He walked into the kitchen and found the quick sheet, calling Sara.

"Hello,"

"Hi, it's Roger,"

"How is he?"

"He's sleeping. I think he'll be better tomorrow. He wrote you a pretty powerful letter. Andy wants him to see Dr. Wu and then spend time with you tomorrow. He loves you Sara with a strength that scares him, sometimes. Please don't ever doubt that." Roger said his voice full of emotion.

"I love him too, Roger. Thank you so much for being a friend and surrogate father to him. "

"We have a unique relationship, he and I. Not quite father and son, or male friends, but something in between."

"I need to get ready for work, Roger. Have him call me when he wakes up." Sara said.

"I will. Take care, Sara," Roger promised.

"Thanks, good night,"

"Good night," Roger said, hanging up the phone.

Roger yawned, putting down a book he had pulled from the bookcase. He walked into the guestroom and returned with a thin cotton blanket. Stretching it over Grissom, he turned out all of the lights in the living room except the one in the corner. Roger went back to the guest room, slipped on his pajamas, crawled into bed, and was asleep in minutes.

Grissom woke quickly, disoriented before realizing he was fully dressed on a sofa. He looked at the wall opposite him, saw the photos, and recognized that he was at Jim's apartment. He stretched out on the sofa and pulled the cotton blanket over himself and fell back asleep.

Roger took a shower, dressed, and walked into the living room. Grissom was lying with his back to the door, only the top of his head showing from beneath the blanket. Walking into the kitchen, Roger started to make coffee. Ten minutes later, the living room smelled wonderfully and Roger sat on the small balcony, in the cool morning air, sipping coffee.

Jim unlocked the door and walked into his apartment. He hung his gun, holster, and handcuffs in the closet, put his cell phone in the charger, and kicked off his shoes before walking into the living room. Grissom was asleep on the sofa and Jim saw Roger's back through the glass door to the balcony. He took a thermal glass from the cabinet, filled it with two ice cubes, 2 inches of Jameson's, and a bit of water. Slipping off his sports coat, he joined Roger on the balcony.

"Morning,"

"Morning, how was work?" Roger asked, continuing to stare out towards the mountains.

"Quiet for a change. Sara brought Grissom's car keys, so I had the Denali brought over."

Roger said nothing.

"May I join you?" Grissom asked, standing in the doorway with a mug that said, "Kiss me, I'm a cop" on it, in his hand.

"How are you this morning?" Roger asked, looking at him.

"Not as tired," he joked, as he sat down.

Jim sipped his whiskey, looking at his friend. Grissom had circles under his eyes, his hair was at odds, and his beard needed a trim, but the light was back in his eyes.

"Your Denali is here in the lot,"

"Thanks."

"I don't know if Andy left you a note, but you're to see Dr. Wu today." Jim advised softly.

Grissom looked into his coffee mug but didn't reply.

"Do you know what happened to my phone?" Grissom asked, settling further into the plastic webs of his chair.

Jim looked at Roger and then back at Grissom.

"You threw it against the wall when you were having your session with Andy yesterday."

Grissom sipped his coffee, thoughtfully. Roger looked at him, expecting a response.

"Can I make food for anyone?" Roger asked, standing with his empty coffee cup.

"Gil, you haven't eaten in a couple of days a least. Do you want some toast or something?" Jim asked.

"I don't think I could keep anything down, honestly. Let me see how the coffee sits." Grissom replied softly.

Roger went into the kitchen and filled his cup before returning to the balcony. The men sat in silence, listening to the noises of the city. Jim was the first one to move.

"Fellas, I gotta take a shower and get some sleep. See you at work, Gil," he said standing.

"I guess I should be going too." Grissom said, standing slowly.

Roger stood and looked at his two friends. A shadow of sadness crossed his face unnoticed by the other men.

"Talk to you later, Roger. See you at work, Jim." Grissom said, picking up his keys and Sara's letter from the counter by the kitchen.

"Take care, Moss." Roger said, standing just inside the living room.

"Rest a little today, will you?" Jim asked.

Grissom flashed a tired grin, and walked out of the apartment.

"Dr. Grissom, Dr. Hayes called and said we might be expecting you today. Please follow me." She said, her voice melodic and soothing.

Grissom followed her to a glossy amber door. This was a room he had never been in. She opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

"My husband will be with you shortly. Do you have your music?"

Grissom handed her his CD and walked into the room. The door shut silently behind him and he looked around the room. The table was in the center under a pale light. The floor was covered in a dark brown carpet that felt thick and rich, even though Grissom still had his shoes on. The walls were covered in Chinese running script wall hangings. Each was individually lit and appeared to float on the walls. There was no sound in the room, no air conditioning, or plumbing noises; no trappings of the outside world. Slowly Grissom removed his clothes to his shorts and lay back on the table. He felt the lights dim as he started his relaxation exercises. A hand touched his bruised right hand so softly that Grissom was almost unaware. He relaxed more and dimly felt the needles as he heard the cello music begin softly. He fell asleep before Dr. Wu had inserted the last needle. On the sheet of paper near Grissom's head, Dr. Wu wrote, 252; the number of needles he had applied.

Dr. Wu had been seeing Grissom for several years. He had seen him in many states from fatigue to fury. Today his unrest was unsettling. As Grissom's nightmares started, Dr. Wu reached for his face to calm him. A second set of hands started to gently massage Grissom's feet. Mrs. Wu had often helped in sessions with her husband, but never on Dr. Grissom. Her husband knew when Dr. Hayes said Grissom called his condition 'off-axis' that he needed her special qualities. As the acupuncture needles opened the paths for the chi to flow, Mrs. Wu's strong hands helped relax the muscles that held Grissom in check.

Grissom opened his eyes and felt a calm he hadn't felt in years. He also felt utterly exhausted. Getting dressed, he walked to the office to have his customary cup of tea with Dr. Wu. He was surprised that, instead, his tea partner was Mrs. Wu. Carefully she prepared him a cup of tea which he took in two hands and smiled. He sipped his tea and felt his energy continue to wane.

"You must go and sleep now, Dr. Grissom. Come back in two days."

"Thank you," Grissom said, standing and bowing to her.

She stood and bowed in return, watching the intriguing man walk out the door of the office into the reception area.

Grissom walked to the elevator, feeling he really didn't have the strength to walk down the stairs. He walked out into the heat of the day to his car, unlocked it and got in. Turning on the engine he pressed CD3 and realized that he left his CD behind at Dr. Wu's office. He made a mental note and turned on CD5. 'Aja' started to play quietly as he pulled into traffic for the short drive home.

He turned into his driveway, shut off the engine, and climbed the short staircase up to his townhouse door. He unlocked it, walked inside, shut and locked the door, and yawned. He put his keys in the dish and walked upstairs. Kicking off his shoes slowly, he pulled the rest of his clothes off to his shorts, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.

Grissom was dreaming and turned slightly in the bed, almost reaching consciousness, but not quite. Sara had arrived about an hour earlier. She ascended the stairs, stripped to her bra and underwear, and crawled into bed, aching to be near him. After his last remark, she wasn't sure what to expect. Very slowly she moved to a point about an inch away from his back. When he turned while dreaming, he turned against her. Feeling her, he snuggled closer and the warmth seemed to calm him as he settled back to sleep. She moved her body closer, falling asleep herself.

He awoke from a restful sleep and smelled Sara's shampoo. He rolled over to look at her face to face. She woke up and smiled. Grissom brushed some stray hairs from her face, his hand resting on her cheek. She could see he was wrestling with something. He turned, reaching his left arm over her, resting his head on her shoulder, his right arm safely pinned between them. Sara extended her right arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer and feeling his warmth. He held her tightly, fighting sleep, reveling in her safety. Finally, he sighed softly and fell asleep; Sara joining him shortly thereafter.

8:00 pm

Grissom heard the alarm and woke up. He was alone, but he smelled dinner and coffee wafting up from the kitchen. Walking into the bathroom, he stripped out of his shorts and stepped into the shower. He felt calm and had a sense of balance. The hot water soaked and warmed him as he washed his hair. He turned off the water and opened the shower door.

"Towel?" Sara asked.

"Thanks, what are you cooking? It smells great," Grissom asked, drying off.

"Couscous and steamed veggies," Sara replied, leaning against the counter.

Grissom hung up his towel and walked naked back into the bedroom and then the closet. Sara followed and watched him closely.

"Yes?" Grissom asked, slipping on a clean pair of shorts.

"Just looking," Sara answered.

"You don't want to buy?" Grissom teased, tugging on a pair of black linen trousers.

"It may be too expensive," Sara said, regretting it as soon as the words left her mouth.

"How do you know? You haven't even asked for the price." Grissom said quietly, turning his back to her, buttoning a loose black linen shirt.

Sara stood in the doorway of the closet, holding her ground.

"I'd like a demo," she requested softly.

Grissom turned, his wet hair still dripping slightly. He walked up to her slowly, reaching his left hand around her waist, his right hand moving to her face; tilting it slightly as he kissed her gently. She pulled back and grinned. He was very serious though, and quickly she sobered up.

"What is this model selling for?" Sara asked.

"Your forgiveness and patience," Grissom replied, his eyes dark.

"You have that unequivocally."

"Not good enough, Sara. Please, I need this." Grissom said, his voice husky.

"Grissom, I forgive you," Sara said, holding his face in her hands, feeling the coarseness of his beard.

He closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Slowly, she rubbed her thumb over his lips and he opened his eyes.

"Grissom, I love you,"

"I love you, too,"

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him passionately. He responded in kind. They kissed for several minutes before she broke away.

"Gil, we need to eat before shift." She said, quickly kissing him again before leaving the closet, to head downstairs.

Grissom smiled and put on his socks and shoes. He walked into the bedroom and started to pick up his clothes off the floor. He felt the pockets of his trousers for any contents and felt a stiff piece of paper. Reaching into the back pocket, he found his note to Sara. He carefully put it in his back pocket and took his shirt, khakis, and socks to the laundry bin in his closet. He glanced around the room and headed downstairs.

Sara was playing an Aretha Franklin CD, singing softly while dishing up dinner. She had set the dining room table with a candle. He smiled as he walked into the kitchen.

"Can I help?"

"No, thanks, I'm all set,"

Grissom walked back into the living room and sat at the dining room table. Sara brought out a glass of white wine for Grissom and a bowl of veggies over couscous.

"Smells wonderful,"

Sara grinned before walking back to the kitchen. She returned with her full bowl and a cup of coffee.

Grissom stared at her unconsciously, until she interrupted him.

"What? Do I have something on my nose?"

Grissom blushed and looked down at this food. He took a breath, paused, and then went for it.

"I was thinking how beautiful you are and how lucky I am that you care about me. But mostly, I was trying to get up the nerve to give you this." Grissom said, handing her the letter he had written at Jim's.

Sara opened the letter as Grissom took a long sip of wine.

My love,

I am so sorry to have hurt your feelings. It seems the older I get, the more I remember from my childhood. I wanted to protect you from those memories. I didn't understand that I would be stronger by sharing them with you and that you were strong enough to handle them with me. What I do know is that I love you. I can't imagine my life without you. You are part of me. When I'm apart from you, I feel alone and dead.

Please forgive me,
All my love, GG

Sara's eyes became full and the tears streamed down her face. Grissom sipped his wine and looked down into his cooling food.

"Hey, Bugman?" she asked, wiping the tears from her face.

Grissom looked at her, his right eyebrow raised in question.

"I love you. I can't imagine my life without you. You are my soul mate in all ways." She said, reaching her hand for him.

Grissom stretched his right hand to her and winced when she squeezed it hard.

"Sorry, Gil,"

"It's all right," he said, his breathing heavier now through the pain.

"Damn, dinner's cold," she remarked.

"I'm sorry,"

"It's not your fault. You have to stop accepting the blame for everything that happens. Sometimes, bad things happen. That's just the way it is." Sara said, letting off some steam.

Grissom was quiet, poking at his food. Sara looked at him and realized that she had hurt his feelings.

The phone rang and Grissom walked to the kitchen to answer it.

"Grissom,"

"We have a 419 at the Sands," Brass said, matter-of-factly.

"Hi, to you. Look we'll be there in an hour."

"Gil, it's Dr. Gilbert, from the deaf school,"

Pausing, Grissom answered, "We'll be right there,"

"Thanks."

Grissom hung up the phone and turned to Sara.

"Dr. Gilbert is dead. We need to go." He said, resorting to his defenses, walking to the front door to gather his tools.

"Please, Grissom, please? Don't keep me out." Sara said, walking up to him. "Five more minutes won't make a difference. Help me put the coffee in the thermos and the food in the fridge."

Grissom stopped and took a breath. He walked back to her and gathered her in his arms. He looked at her, his eyes full and bright blue.

"I know, I love you, too, Bugman." Sara whispered.

Together they put their dinner into the fridge and poured the coffee into go-cups and the thermos. They walked to the door and he turned back to look at her.

"I adore you," he said, simply.

"Wow," she answered, lost in the magnitude of his words.

He paused to look at her for a moment before heading out to the car. In that moment, Sara saw the despair in his face, showing openly, before going to Dr. Gilbert's crime scene. She summoned all of her strength, shut the door, double checking that it was locked, and headed after him, knowing that he was going to rely on her more than usual on this case.

Updated 8/10/2005