#user addictedtostorytelling

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

(A/N: Part 2 @addictedtostorytelling @stokes-theorem)

In the meantime, Gil returned to the laboratory and made a beeline for Greg. On his way to Greg's station, he could hear loud metal screaming, making him wince. Coincidentally, the lyrics were, 'SHUT UP WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUUUT UUUUP!!!!'  They played as he passed Greg, who had his head resting on top of his arms on the desk, and were cut off as he turned the radio off.  Greg bolted upright, his head turning about frantically, as Gil quipped, "Indeed, Greg, indeed!"

"O-oh! Grissom!" the younger man exclaimed, his head settling at last. Grissom just raised his flickered his eyebrows and set his mouth in a line, giving a firm, decisive nod of finality. He made his way from the radio over to the microscope, which he looked down into. He adjusted the focus. "That's the hair from the spare bedroom."

Grissom lifted his head and raised his arm to rest it on the microscope. "There's an oily film on the surface of the hair." On 'hair', he tilted his head firmly to one side and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. As much as Gil liked to suppress his deeper, stronger feelings, his face was very expressive when it came to things like asking people questions, or when he was following a particular pattern of thought.

"Propylene glycol." He passed the report to Grissom. "Active ingredient in Rogaine, for male-pattern baldness.  Personally I don't use the stuff but my, grandfather papa Olaf...he was Bruce Willis at age sixteen." Grissom had had his head down as he was reading the results, but raised it in annoyance at Greg's pointless rambling. "Lucky for me baldness comes from the mother's side, so I'm s-"

"Greg. Please. I'm very tired." Yeah, no shit Gil. No. Shit. He sounded like he could fall - literally fall - to the floor and sleep at any second. He was too tired to voice his frustration, but he bobbed his head with each sentence he uttered to place emphasis on what he was saying.

Greg sympathised with him and, like a patient son, said, "Well maybe the guy we're looking for is going bald.  Or trying not to.  According to papa Olaf, a lot of guys who use Rogaine also use Propecia. Kind of like a cocktail.  I ran the hair through mass spec; I got four peaks:  ethyl alcohol, propylene glycol, minoxidil aand finasteride."  He handed Grissom the second data sheet.

"Finasteride...the chemical name for Propecia."

Having gotten the results, he left Greg and started walking down the hallway, looking at the reports as he did.  If had been looking up, he would have seen Catherine poking her head into the break room when he turned a corner.  When Catherine turned back around, she saw him, and did get him to look up by remarking, "Oh.  The prodigal csi returns."  Poor Gil...he looked as if he was about to collapse at any moment.  He was barely keeping his eyes open.  "Get any sleep?"

"Not yet," was the tired man's response.  If Sara saw him, she would have cried - and begged him to go to bed.

Catherine just made a 'I don't know what else I expected' face and updated him, "So uh, Brass had to let doctor Tripton go.  The old sex alibi.  Too bad he didn't leave a toe print on a scalpel blade."

"You got a take on him?"

"Balloon head. But credible. Like most adulterers."

" 'S he goin' bald?" He never drank, but boy was he slurring from sleepiness.

"No."

"Grey hair?" It came out soft and tired.

"No," she shook her head.

"Anything else?" He sounded disappointed and exhausted as he looked; he just wanted to be done with the case already.

"He's a lefty?"

He took what he got and went to confer with Al, who confirmed that the murderer was left-handed.  The shift supervisor then went to tell Jim what to look for in a suspect, and off the detective went.  Since identifying the Propecia user was Greg's area of expertise, he got the chance to do some field work.  He wore protective goggles and shone and infrared torchlight onto the suspects' heads, until one yielded a positive result:  Dr. Vincent Lurie.  Greg looked at Jim and nodded.  The policeman stepped in front of Lurie and stated, "Doctor Lurie, we're gonna need you to come with us downtown."

Lurie's eyes shifted downwards and to the side, and he moved his mouth to one side too.  "I wanna call my lawyer."

"He can meet us at the station."  And so Lurie was carter away to the police station.  He was brought to sit in interrogation room A, with Jim and Grissom to question him; Grissom was quietly watching him in cold fury.

But nobody knew that Sara was watching from interrogation room B through the one-way window-mirror.  While waiting for Lurie's lawyer to arrive, he was allowed a cup of coffee.  When the lawyer did finally show up, the doctor spoke, "There was no need for the light show; all you had to do was ask."

"Good," Jim quipped.  He was standing behind his chair.  "Since we're being completely honest," he stepped to the side of the table and raised his forearms with his palms upwards, "are you losing your hair?"

"I'm a forty-eight-year-old man.  I'm not unique," he deadpanned.

Ever the master at controlling his emotions, Grissom said calmly, "Your hair is though."  He held the evidence bag containing the hair up to show him.  "We found it at a crime scene.  Minoxidil absorbs infrared light."

Lurie sipped his coffee before replying straightforwardly again, "I-I take Rogaine and Propecia.  Again, not unique."

Jim spoke, "Oh we think that Debbie Marlin and Michael Clark were killed by a surgeon who's left-handed.  And we know of two left-handed surgeons at Desert Palm...doctor Tripton, who has an alibi...and you."

"Look if you're gonna make accusations you should- really do your homework.  Howard and I are the only lefties on staff.  Doctor Randolf who has privileges at the hospital, he's also a lefty, we play tennis every Wednesday- he's got a heck of a backhand."  Jim just gave a few nods of his head, then turned it to look at Grissom, but faced Lurie again when he continued, "If you want me to name more names...I could but- you don't want me to do your job for you.  Do ya?"

The lawyer piped up, "Gentlemen...we're here as a courtesy so, if you're quite through wasting our time, I think that the doctor would like to get back to the business of saving lives..."

Jim responded, "Not so fast.  Is this," another evidence bag was held up, "the link from the bracelet you gave Debbie?"

Lurie let out a long exhale through his mouth and put on reading glasses.  Grissom watched him.  "Yeah.  It looks like it.  Where's the rest of it?"  he said casually.

Jim told him, "This link was vacuumed from the floor of the spare bedroom after the murder.  The other link was in her jewellery box.  The funny thing is, that all, the bracelets, from the other guys she slept with, are intact."  He sat down at last.

"Well, all I can tell you is...when I gave it to her it was in one piece."  He smiled smugly.  Grissom raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, his glare never weakening.  Lurie whispered something to his lawyer.

"Do you have any other evidence?"  Grissom made his expression soften and admitted, "No, we don't."  It was soft, due to both defeat and lethargy.

Jim added, "We might not have any other evidence but we have a theory."

"That's not admissible in court," the lawyer scoffed.

But Lurie chimed in, "No no no.  It's worth a listen."  He smiled bemusedly.

Jim stood up and leant down to glare at him, speaking in a low, dangerous voice, "We think you killed Debbie Marlin, because she rejected you.  And Michael Clark, paid the price."  Lurie just gave a wry chuckle and a 'is that it?' tilt of the head.

The lawyer spoke up, "Thank you.  For your time.  And your theories."  Grissom looked at Lurie, calculative; his eyebrows moved along with his train of thought.  "You said it yourself:  you don't have a case."  He faced his client.  "Doctor?"  The two collected their belongings and stood up.  Grissom stared down at the table.

Just as Lurie was about to step out, Grissom spoke to him for the only time, "Sad isn't it doc?  Guys like us..." He glanced up at him then back down again.  "Couple of middle-aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives..."  Lurie straightened up and clenched his jaw.  "The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves."  Along with the words, a note of sadness sounded.  Lurie, the murderer, made eye contact with Grissom, the criminalist.  "We wake up one day that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all."  There was a little stress on 'all'.  "Then all of a sudden...we get a second chance.  Somebody young and beautiful shows up, somebody...we could care about."  His voice cracked a little, so he covered it up by making his voice scratchy.  "She offers us a new life with her...but we have a big decision to make right?  Because we've got to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her."  Grissom let his ruefulness play to his anger.  But...there was an understanding between them.  "And you did."  Lurie's head dipped a little.  "You risked it all.  And she showed you a wonderful life didn't she?"  Grissom watched him for a few moments; the other man remained still.  Grissom lowered his gaze to the side.  "But then she took it away and gave it to somebody else, and you were lost."  Lurie's head raised; Grissom saw that.  "So you took her life." But even as he said that, his voice remained soft and calm. "You killed them both. And now you have nothing." The coldness showed through.

"I'm still here," Lurie responded, but he was resigned.

"...are ya?"  Lurie stared at him for a few moments longer, then left.  When Gil thought he was alone, he shook his head a bit, then dropped it altogether and sighed heavily.  Sara watched her boyfriend thoughtfully; she would have to have a talk with him when he was rested and ready to do so.  She left the building, and headed home.

As for Gil, he remained seated and still for a while, lost in his thoughts. Jim had listened to his friend's speech...confession...with some empathy, for he could not help but compare what Grissom described to his own situation with Nancy and Ellie; he was so busy being a policeman that his wife divorced him and his daughter was estranged from him. He slowly paced over to Grissom and  bent down a little to try and catch his gaze.  Grissom's head snapped up and their eyes met.  "You okay?"  Jim asked softly.

He was about to continue, but Grissom abruptly turned his face away.  "I'm fine," he got out, a bit harsh.

Jim did not believe him, but he stepped back. "All right." He left the room. Gil dropped right back into his spiral of thoughts.

Sara sat on the couch in front of the door with Hank at her feet; she lazily draped her arms around his neck, and they listened for Gil's car.  Or rather, Hank listened and Sara waited for Hank to react and indicate that Gil was coming.

Gil wrenched himself out of his head in due time. He dazedly looked about, his head moving jerkily. But his brain did not really register any visual input, or any other stimuli. He pushed on the table and rose to his feet, feeling that he had to be especially careful with his balance since he was still heady. Plus, the case was (unofficially) solved, so his adrenaline was wearing off.

He did manage to drive home safely.  Hank barked and jumped up to his feet, so Sara stood up as well and opened the door.  Soon enough, she heard the rumbling of wheels and saw the gates open.  Gil's car turned into the driveway. Once he was parked, he pressed the button on the remote to close the gates, then opened the car door and put his feet on the ground. Hank barked excitedly and ran to him.  From where she was, Sara could see Gil's hand coming down and petting the dog's head.  That was all Gil could do; he could not squat.  Sara slowly approached him.  He looked up from Hank to her.  Her heart broke when she saw how tired he was.  "Go inside and shower.  I'll walk Hank."  The dog yapped and looked at her when his name and 'walk' were used in relation to each other. "Oh, uh, not yet," she said to the boxer, giving his head a few pets.

Gil sighed warily and wearily, his shoulders hunching, before responding, "I owe you a lot of explanation..."  He had to yawn after that.  He looked away and put a hand over his mouth.

Sara reached over Hank and put a hand on Gil's shoulder. "You'll be able to communicate better when you've got more energy."

He shook his head. "Won't be able to sleep 'less I talk it out." He pointed a finger to his head. "S' a mess in here right now. Has been this whole time."

She squeezed his shoulder, nodding lightly along to what he said. "Alright. Then, you go and get yourself cleaned up and...we'll talk when Hank and I come back?"

Gil took her hand off his shoulder and held it with both of his. "I wanna come with you..."

Sara smiled from one side of her mouth. "Okay.  Then, do you want to eat first, or just start walking from here?"

"I need some strength to walk." The three of them made it into the house and to the dining area. Sara pulled a chair out for Gil. He sat down with a relieved sigh. He put one arm on the table, bent it, and rested the side of his head on it, his eyes closed. He let his other arm dangle loosely at his side. Sara helped him to put his kit away and then did the best she could for food. She the first portion in front of Gil, then gave Hank his pellets before sitting down next to her boyfriend to eat her own meal. The tired man ate slowly; his girlfriend and son patiently waited for him. When he was done, he sluggishly pushed off the table to stand himself up. Sara let him drag his feet to the door whilst she washed the utensils; by the time Gil reached the door, she finished and caught up to him.

Their walk was leisurely and silent. Well, Hank and Sara had to slow down to keep pace with Gil. Nevertheless, the humans frequently shared loving glances. Gil kept his hands stuffed inside his pockets; at one point, Sara clutched his arm and leant her head on his shoulder.

When they got home, Sara just let Gil walk through the side gate, then the front door, shutting and locking them respectively as he slowly passed through. "Alright. You have to shower first," she said, turning to him.

He seemed to look at her pleadingly. "Can we bathe together?"

That one-sided smile returned to her face. "I'll get the bath running." She left him to go and do so while he sluggishly shuffled his way over again. Once the taps were running and the plug was in the hole, Sara took her clothes off. She stood still and watched the water level rise.

However, she turned around when Gil's voice chimed, "We might as well brush our teeth first." Before Sara could respond, Gil shuffled to the sink and did what he said he would. He flinched at the sudden feel of cold water; he had forgotten about that. He quickly got used to it and cleaned his teeth. Sara just sat on the edge of the tub and watched him. He shivered when he dabbed some water on his face, but again he acclimatised and did what he had to.

"Feel better?" Sara asked when he was done.

"A little..." He stepped away from the sink as she got up from the tub's edge. She brushed her teeth while he took off his clothes. He got inside the bathtub first; the warm water was a welcome sensation, in contrast to the cold water from the tap. He leant on one wall, then slouched, so the water was up to his chin, with his eyes shut again.

Sara came over and pushed on his back so that he would sit up.  "Don't drown," she chided, sitting behind him.  He merely dropped back down again, but this time he was safe with her.  She had her arms around his chest.  "Comfy?"

He let out a long, languid yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth, before rumbling out, "Very."

She started to gently massage his chest, and smiled when he let out a groan.  She kissed the top of his head, but then recoiled.  "Oh...this needs a wash."  The man in her arms opened his mouth (but not his eyes) to say something, but Sara cut in, "Hold your breath, and close your mouth.  Keep your eyes shut too."  He did as she said, and she covered his nose and mouth with one hand, while she used the other to scoop water onto his hair. He was able to breathe just enough to not have to gasp for air.

They remained like that until Gil's head had sufficient water on it for soap to be lathered through.  In lieu of that, Sara momentarily let go of him to pump shampoo onto her hand.  Gil let out a loud yawn when she massaged his scalp.  "Thank you..." he murmured.

"Just don't fall asleep."  And oh, Gil could hear that sassy smirk, which he had missed so much.  That woke him up a little more.

When Sara was done soaping his head, she just lightly ran her hands through his beard, appreciating the coarse feeling.  He smiled due to his face being surrounded by her touch.  "That feels nice..."  She smiled and kissed his forehead.  He felt that the soap was far enough from his eyes to open them, so he did.  He stared up at her; they slowly tilted their heads so that they could bring their lips together, their eyes closing once they touched.  Sara held his head with a hand on either side of it, and Gil supported himself with his elbows on the floor of the tub.

It was only a quick kiss, for they soon broke apart to giggle; they had missed each other, and so touching one another again was especially pleasant. Gil finally sat up because his arms were going to give way. Not that they were not tired before, but being with Sara again as well as breakfasting had fuelled him a little. And the water had helped to hold his weight for a period of time. Sara used her hands to pour water onto his head again and rinsed the soap out of his hair. Since his back was to her, she proceeded to wash that. And for the first time in three days, he was struck with the realisation of how badly he needed a wash. He sat still and let her help him. She moved on to his front, and his arms, then his lower body, all the while remaining behind him and moving her arms past him.

"Thank you so much," he said to her. He turned around. "Let me do the same for you." This time, she smiled with both sides of her mouth. Without saying anything, she turned around, so she leant against him. He did the exact same thing she did for him, carrying it out carefully and tenderly.

When they were done, they drained the tub, but remained seated until all the water had run out; Gilbert still had his arms around Sara's waist. Once the point they were waiting for was reached, they got out of the tub. They towelled off as quickly as possible and dressed; Gil put on the cleanest clothes he had worn in three days. In fact, before he put on his shirt, he held it up to his nose and took a deep inhale. Sara giggled at his antics. More than anything, she felt privileged that he felt comfortable enough to do this sort of thing with her watching. Tasting mustard off a trolley or burnt motor oil to determine what they were was something he had to do on the job, but here in this place, with her, his home, the sole 'purpose' he had for doing that was simply because he felt like it.

At long last for Gil, they lay on the bed, with an elbow each propping them up as they faced each other. "So..." Sara opened.

Gil sighed thoughtfully before saying, "She looked so much like you..." He directed his eyes down towards the bed and shook his head. "I...I kept worrying...what if that had been you?"

"Hey, look at me."  He did so.  "I'm right here.  I always will be.  Okay?  I'm not going anywhere."  He clenched his jaw when he heard that.  Then, he shifted to sit up, so she did the same.  He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against hers.  She let him stay like that for a while, basking in her presence.  However, there was something else pressing at the forefront of her mind.  "Um, Gilbert...?"

"Hm-m?" he drawled.

Since he still did not she spoke up, she gently pushed on his shoulders.  "There's...something else I wanna ask you..." He looked at her enquiringly, but sweetly.  He clearly did not expect her to confess, "I watched your interrogation..." His eyes widened, alarm flashing in them and taking the place of the fondness that had previously been there. He remained completely stoic otherwise, but Sara knew him well enough to read the emotion in his eyes.  "I'd like to know what all that was about," she said genially.

His eyes shifted away again, and his mouth opened because he was taking short, panicked breaths.  Sara shifted to sit up, so that she could put a hand on his cheek.  That made him lock eyes with her, and, like everytime she touched his cheek, he calmed down.  His breathing gradually slowed to its regular rate.  During that time, she watched him patiently, not moving a muscle nor uttering a syllable.  Only when he closed his eyes and leant into her touch did she move her thumb to stroke his cheek.

Still she waited for him to speak, letting him talk in his own good time.  "I was remembering..." he started, eyes still closed and his head still in her hand.  "I was remembering the time when I...I kept pushing you away..."

"You've already explained yourself to me, and you know I've forgiven you.  I didn't know you were still hung up on that..."

He nodded, his scruff brushing her hand.  "I am..."

She used the same coaxing, "Hey, listen.  Look at me."  He opened his eyes tentatively.  "You have no need to worry, alright?  I will always be with you.  Physically and emotionally.  Know that you are my one and only.  I love you."

His eyeballs shook for a few moments, before he closed his eyes altogether and let out a pained sigh through his nose. He then briefly opened his eyes and moved his head closer to hers and kiss her, putting one hand on the back of her head and moving his other arm around her waist. She had her hands on his shoulders and neck, stroking them. The kiss lasted longer this time, with Gil constantly pressing and moving his lips against hers, needing a physical outlet for his emotions. Yet again, this was something only Sara had the fortune of experiencing.

Still acting on impulse, Gil detached his lips from hers and breathed, "I love you."  Sara did not even have time to react before he hugged her.  "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Fortunately, you don't even have to think about that," she smiled.  He smushed his lips against her cheek.  The heaviness of the emotion plus the tickle of his beard made her giggle.  "You ready to sleep now?" she asked.

To answer that, Gil let go of her completely and leant back.  Sara predicted what he wanted to do and stood up.  She opened the door and whistled.  Hank barked and ran past her, leaping onto the bed.  Gil remarked, "Someone's energetic."

"You haven't slept in forty hours, Gilbert," she playfully scolded.

"I know, I know," he sighed as he lay down, but that turned into a yawn.

Sara lay on the side that Hank was not on, so Gil was in the centre and he could embrace them both.  Sara lay her head on his chest.  "Goodnight, both of you," she murmured.

"Mhm..." was the only response Gil was able to make.

4x12 - GSR fix-it fic

(A/N:  What the motherfuck- TUMBLR HAS A TEXT BLOCK LIMIT?!!!! UUUGGGHHH!!!! I guess this is gonna have to be in two parts. But, I guess...this whole thing is pushing 9000 words, so I'll split it 4500-4500. Yeah. I'm as tired as Gil now. I'm gonna go sleep with him. I was inspired to write this after watching that video.  Anyways, they're actually together in this one.  Aka when Gil FINALLY goes home, he can rest his forehead on Sara's and reassure himself that she's actually still okay, and that she's actually still right there, with him.  Because I crave this for them.  So, there are many and heavy contextual changes. Fyi, I'm not writing out every single piece of dialogue/action, hell no.  I'm just writing whatever's relevant to GSR. Oh and, warning - canon-typical ns/fw

{I'm sorry about the formatting but I would like to give} Special thanks to @addictedtostorytelling for...basically saving my ass with all the details of this fic. Thank you for answering my questions, no matter how inane, dumb, unnecessary, or worse. And of course @stokes-theorem got me out of a panic attack; it is much appreciated 🙏)

Gil walked through the house of the 419 of the night, having had to put protective coverings over his shoes so that he did not disturb any evidence he might accidentally step on. He had to keep his back to the wall and walk sideways as well. (The sound of his footsteps were adorable.) As he passed the spare bedroom, he noticed that the victim possessed a collection of butterfly-resembling trinkets, all displayed nicely on her shelf. He made it to the area of event at last, squatting down to take a closer look at the body.

His eyebrows jumped up in shock - the victim had a strong resemblance to Sara. For a few moments longer, he stared at his (secret) girlfriend's image, a dozen thoughts swirling around in his head but never aligning themselves. It was his unfailing sense of duty that allowed him to literally get his head upright and get back to his team, who was waiting outside. But when he opened the door, the very person in his line of sight was Sara; again he stared, this time at her actual self. Inside, there was a dead body, who looked so like her, but here she was, living, breathing and- turning her head to stare right back at him. But the one's gaze held such a different meaning from the other's.

Jim, who was past Sara in Grissom's line of sight, thought that he was the one the team leader wanted to see, so he stepped between the scientists. "Ready for us?"

"For now, no one enters this house except CSI."

[CUE THE INTRO]

Gil assigned Warrick to the car, but he assigned Sara to the perimeter, to which she shook her head in disbelief and questioned, "What? You just did a one hour walk-through. The perimeter cannot be a priority." On 'not', she shrugged and laughed wryly.

His gaze immediately turned beseeching. "I need you to work the outside. Catherine and I will be inside." He momentarily shifted his eyes in the direction of the door at the last bit but immediately looked back at her, his eyes even more pleading. Sara gave him an 'alright, fine' smile and went to do as he said.

Gil did not examine the car, but there was a fair chance that it would yield a fair amount of evidence. However, he had, as Sara remarked, gone over the perimeter, so he knew that Sara's scouring of it would bear no fruit. He deliberately did this; he wanted to dissociate Sara from the case as much as possible, in his own little way.

While Catherine went to interrogate the victim's friend, Gil took the opportunity to go back and stare the body for a bit longer.  He was (understandably) haunted that the 419 looked like the love of his life.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear Catherine walk in behind him; his head flinched to the side when she spoke, "One thing I can never get over with this job: anything can happen to anybody."

Gil clicked his tongue and responded, "That's why we're here," before going back to looking over the corpse.

Soon enough, Sara was let in a little more on the action when she had to crawl under the house and unscrew a pipe running from the bathroom to get the water that had been drained into it, as well as process the actual pipe.  However, Gil insisted that she was to return to the laboratory and test just those pieces of evidences as soon as she was done; his intent was that she would be occupied with something appertaining to the case but not in such a major capacity, thus satisfying her curiosity if only on a temporal basis.  Gil and Sara did not know it, but when she looked up into the pipe, Gil happened to be spraying luminol onto it on the other side.  (A/N:  Can I just take a moment to appreciate the cinematography here?  As well as the music <3)

The bugs helped the bug man out again; flies swarmed the dustbins that had pieces of corpse inside them.

After those were sent back to Al and David, Gil went back inside the house.  This time, he examined the victim's collection of synthetic butterflies.  He was turning over one that was blue, translucent, and had a base so that it could stand, a thoughtful frown on his forehead.  If Sara had been there to see him, she would have kissed it away.  He put the butterfly down and picked up a framed picture of Debbie.  With her arms straight up in the air and an open-mouthed smile that showed her top row of teeth, it was evident that she had been jubilant at the time of photography.  Gil shook his head; not because he pitied the loss of her joy, but because he was once again struck by her likeness to the greatest joy in his own life.  He tore his eyes away from the photo and looked at himself in the mirror, trying to collect himself.

But the adverse was achieved, because the bed was visible in the mirror, and he envisioned the victim sitting on it facing away from him, alive and well.  She then looked over her shoulder at him; the image was replaced with that of Sara.

Grissom clenched his jaw.  He stiffly tilted his head to one side, his gaze at himself hardening.  All in an reinforced effort to steel himself.

He was forcibly yanked out of his thoughts when his phone rang; his head flinched a little way in its direction while his eyes flickered down to it.  He picked it up and manage to announce in his normal voice, "Grissom."

"Hey!"  came the voice of the very woman who plagued him so, her voice cheery; she had dismissed any offence she had felt earlier from her mind and forgiven him, just being happy to hear from her man.

But her voice made him drop his mouth open in shock. Restraining the last of his resolve from flying out the window, he said, "Sara.  Uuuuhhh listen I'm in a bad area, I'll call you back."  He deliberately raised his voice a little to make his lie more believable.

Even though he could not see her, she gave a little nod; physical embodiment of her acknowledgment.  She responded by raising her voice just as he did when he next spoke.  "I got a skin tag off the bathroom drain pipe."

"Skin tag.  That's great.  Uh, give it to Greg."

"Yeah I did.  Hey do you want me to come over there and give you a hand?"

"No I'm-I'm-I'm fine," he stuttered, his free hand moving up then down again, as if he was physically dismissing (his emotions besides) her offer.  "I'll-i'll-i'll- uh...I'll talk to you back at the lab."  He immediately hung up after that.  He raised his head to glare at himself; he needed to force himself to push whatever emotions he had aside so that he could focus on the case.

As for Sara, she frowned in concern, but went on brushing what she put down as his typical eccentricity aside and went to help Warrick out with Michael Clark's car.  A third party would have enjoyed watching them work, especially with John M.  Keane's music.

After that, Sara and Warrick convened with Catherine in the break room to go over the course of the physical events of the murder.  Grissom joined remotely by holding his pager to his ear with one hand, while the break room's table had a speaker that his phone was tapped into; it was certainly much easier to communicate with Sara remotely and in a group where he could avoid speaking directly to her instead of communing in private where he literally had to face her.  Since Grissom was at the house, he walked through it himself in accordance with his team's narration.  When Sara spoke, he had to tilt his phone away from his ear, catching himself tripping again.  Since he was at the scene of the crime, he narrated how the deed was done.  As always, he had been envisioning the actual events, so it was difficult for him to picture such a thing happening Sara's likeness, but he pulled through; he did pause for extremely brief moments, and those could be put down perfectly as him taking time to think.

Sara, Catherine and Warrick finally went home after one and a half shifts.  As Sara approached the door to her and Gil's place, she could hear Hank scratching at it.  She smiled and opened the door. "Hey!" she called at the same time that Hank barked. Hank then stepped behind her and sniffed the air. "He's not here," Sara told him, gently pushing him inside with one hand and holding her kit with the other.  She sat on the couch and directed him to sit next to her.  She took her phone out of her pocket and showed it to him.  "We'll call him, huh?"  Hank had come to understand that that little slab of plastic with an area that would light up was something that humans used to communicate with each other.  There were frequent occasions when one of his humans was away, and the other would hold this object in between him and them.  Then, when the human pressed some things that made beeping sounds, there would be a certain tone for a while until the other human's voice could be heard from it; this was one such occasion.

Sometimes however, the other human's voice would not be heard.  In those cases, he and the human would just bark or speak into the slab by themselves.  After several hours, the slab would start up with a ringing sound, and when the human made a beep, the other human's voice could be heard.  He would always bark joyfully then and wag his tail.

So Hank smiled at Sara, tongue hanging out as he panted eagerly.  He watched and listened as she made the slab beep, and a tone followed.  Not too long after, the tone ended, and was replaced with a, "Grissom." He had had to turn away from the area of wall he was swabbing and take the phone out of his inner breast pocket.

Hank immediately started barking into the object, letting his human know that he was excited to hear from him and missed him.  Both humans giggled.  (At least Hank managed to cheer Gil up for a little bit.)  Sara absentmindedly ran her other hand down his ear as she waited for him to stop barking so that she could have her turn at speaking. The dog was aware of this, and let his mother have her turn in due time. "We miss you," she smiled.

He sounded forlorn as he answered, "I know... I miss you too...but I have to finish this." He was frowning sadly, and his shoulders were slumped. Sara thought that he was sad because he regretted not being able to come home to her. While this was true, he had another reason: that he had to deal with...this. And it was not that he had to deal with it; it was something that he had taken upon himself to. All he wanted was to protect his Sara, even if it meant hiding (fortunately minor) details of the case from her, and foregoing sleep altogether.

"Why not come home? Take a break. And you can continue tomorrow," she tried to coax him.

He shook his head even though she could not see him. "No. You go ahead without me," he said woefully.

She frowned in concern. "We gotta stop doing this." She was referring to the fact that they often stayed up for the whole day to work on cases instead of getting sleep.

"I know, I know," he sighed, his free hand squeezing his temples. "I promise I'll get more sleep after this case, okay?"

There was a period of silence when Sara nodded. "Okay," she said genially.

She heard her boyfriend huff a sigh; he dipped his head defeatedly when he did that. "Look, I-i-i'm sorry," he stuttered for the second phone call from her in a row.

She shook her head, "Don't be. It's alright. I'm guilty of the same thing." As well as she could hear that he was in dire need of sleep, she would not force him to since he did not want to. Plus, there was no way she could get Gil to come home without people questioning as to how she managed to get through to the stubborn workaholic; suspicion would be raised as to the true extent of their relationship.  He was at a loss as to what to say.  So, she rescued him as usual, "I'll see you back at the lab?"

He felt as if there were chains around his body that had just been loosened. Finally, something he could answer honestly! He felt as if he was ripping them off as he answered, "I don't think so. I still have to process the carpet-"

"The carpet?! Gil, that thing runs over every inch of floor!!!" Hank, who had been contently resting his head on Sara's lap, jerked his head up at the sudden interjection.

"I know," he groaned slightly, the vocalisation coming more naturally now that he was free. The boxer lay his head back down. "It has to be done though."

She nodded before saying, "I know. Don't run yourself into the ground, okay? I mean," here he could hear her snicker, "no more than you usually do."

For the first time in over a day, he smiled. A small but genuine smile that made the corners of his storm blue eyes crinkle endearingly; if Sara was there to see it, she would have kissed him. "I'll try not to." And, ah, how nice - she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Take care of yourself. Remember to eat at least. I love you."

"I'll try. I love you too. I love you Hank!" His head jerked up again and enthusiastic barking ensued. The humans followed suit with more giggling before they hung up. With his spirits lifted anew from his conversation with Sara, he pocketed his phone and got back to work with a little more energy than he had before.

As for Sara, she put a hand on Hank's head and said, "Well boy, let's go and eat some breakfast huh?"  He gave a cheery bark and jumped off the couch.  Sara closed and locked the door, carried her kit and followed him down the stairs.  She hurried to put her kit away and then popped back to the kitchen to set out Hank's food, and then get herself food. They ate, went for a walk, and returned. Sara took a shower, and put on Gil's shirt after. When it came time for bed, Sara asked Hank to lie on the bed with her, and cuddled him. "Since Gil isn't here, I'll hold you tonight," she smiled. He seemed to understand as he nuzzled her face and lay his head back down.

A little after the phone call, Gil did go and eat. He shed himself of his coveralls, put them in his car, got in himself, and drove to the nearest diner. He ate there and then took away a second meal for his lunch, which he ate at the appropriate time. Sara went to the laboratory at nine o' clock that night, wanting to do all she could to help her boyfriend. She went to check on Warrick's progress.  Upon finding him sifting through the contents of the victim's vacuum cleaner with a pair of tweezers and coughing profusely, she teased, "He-he-heyyy. Blacklung."

"Ah...I've been sifting through this trash for about six hours." That meant that he had been working for the entirety of the swing shift. "You come here to rescue me or make fun of me?" the poor man retorted.

"I am just looking, relax." She pointed to one of the petri dishes Warrick had set out to sort the evidence. "What are these white fibres here?"

"They must be from the spare bedroom, because all the other carpets are green."

Sara looked at the plan drawing of the house. "Spare bedroom wasn't on his entrance or exit path."

"Look, all I know is that they were near the top of the bag, so it must've been one of the last things he vacuumed." Sara gave small nods of acknowledgment.

"I did manage to find this butterfly pendant..." Warrick moved his tweezers to the petri dish where it was and picked it up, "...with some white fibres in it. Looks like it's from a necklace, or a bracelet. And it has this link, which has snapped so I'm thinking...sign of struggle?" He straightened up a little bit to raise his point.

"Killer was in that spare bedroom."

Gil's panicky obsessiveness was certainly affecting a fair few of his teammates. Catherine went to the scene of the crime at the same time as Sara returned to the laboratory.  She knew that Gil was very stressed out about the victim looking so much like their dear friend, and so she wanted to help him.

(Poor Gil...he did not realise that when he worried, his team family worried too and would do whatever they could for him; he did not realise that they could love him as much as he loved them.  He had such heavy doubt about his own lovability, so much so that he even almost rejected Sara when she first asked him out.)

Catherine walked in to see Gil processing the carpet (to the amazing soundtrack). During the conference, he had mentioned that he had processed the carpet on the threshold of the bathroom, and at present he was processing the area of carpet just beyond that.  Her work-wife face on, she said to him, "Don't tell me you never went home."

Gil looked up at her, one hand still on the carpet and the other holding his filter paper. "Okay." Since she did not want to hear anything to that effect, he decided to water it down by saying, "I just got started in here.  I haven't even got into any of the rooms yet."

"You know you lose your edge after sixteen hours, and you're into your third shift. She brought her forearms out to her sides. "I mean I'm all for overtime but, this is just plain greedy."

He shook his head tiredly before reassuring her, "My knees can't take this anymore." As fuelled as he was from his food, it still physically hurt to remain on one's knees for an extended period of time.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Yes."

"Ah," she nodded approvingly.  "Then, how about a shower?"  Gil shook his head.  Catherine raised an eyebrow in turn.  At Gil's look of horror, she clarified, "I mean at your place.  You need to go home."

"As soon as we find some evidence, I promise."

"With fresh eyes you won't miss it."

Her work-husband groaned as he stood up, his knees creaking.  "Just talk it through with me will ya?  What do we know?"

Catherine's eyes shifted to the side in thought.  "Alright."  She inhaled deeply before continuing, "The bathroom is where things got started. Candles, oils...steam shower...cleaned up, oiled up...sexed up."

"Let's go back to the bedroom," Gil voiced, moving his head a little way in the direction of the bedroom. They got their UV-protective goggles out of their kits, with Catherine taking the torchlight as well.  Cath shone the light on the topmost bedsheet, but nothing showed up under the fluorescence. "No, nothing on this sheet," Gil noted. He lifted that sheet to expose the one underneath, to yield the same result; he gently cocked his head to one side in acknowledgement (which was cute).

"She changed her sheets for her date; I would," Catherine remarked.

Since there was nothing to be found on the top surface of the bed, Gil let his gaze wander to the side of the bed. A ring embedded into the mattress caught his eye with a loop red cloth threaded through it with the rest stuffed under the mattress caught his eye; this time his head jerked a little to the side in vigilance. He squatted down and pulled it out, passing hand over hand.  When it was completely free and he could see what it was, he transferred it to one hand so that he could take off his goggles with the other.  He then looked up at his colleague with an uncomfortable expression and called, "Hey Cath..." When she looked at him, he held the thing up as if he was holding a dead rat and continued, "...got silk?"  His eyes shifted to the object as he asked that.  What he meant by that was if there was an identical finding on her side.

She looked down at her side of the mattress, and opened her mouth at the discovery and looked back at him.  Gil kept an inquiring gaze on her and took the opportunity to stand up.  She bent to her side while reaching an arm down and fished the cloth out.  "Why yes I do."  Gil looked back at the one in his own hand and shook it to see if anything would fall out; he was still disconcerted and frowning though.  His unease was turned into scepticism when Catherine said, "Iiii don't mean to embarrass you but um...some guys need leverage," as she stepped towards the foot of the bed and removed the sheets to uncover the barrier.

"They do?"  He was frowning a little bit harder; Sara certainly never complained.

Grinning in the hopes of finding something, Catherine gave a nod before saying, "I'll dust for prints."

While she did that, Gil's phone rang again.  He took his phone out from the same place he had when Sara called.  "Grissom."  He stuffed the hand not holding his phone comfortably into his pocket.

"It's Warrick.  I have somethin' for you - I found a butterfly link.  With some white fibres in it."

Grissom started walking to the other bedroom.  "Butterfly where?"

"In the vacuum bag.  You check all the rooms?"

"Lemme look again, and I'll get back to you."

"Alright." Grissom had reached the spare bedroom by then, so he put his phone away and got up to the shelf where the victim's butterfly collection was, a smile gracing his face at the sight of insects. He shone his (regular) torchlight on the contents of the shelf. When came across some more photos of Debbie, he drew himself back slightly, but quickly tore his gaze away from them; this was not the time to dwell on his feelings. His gaze averted to a blue jewellery box next to them, decorated with even more images of butterflies. He opened it; inside, there was an assortment of accessories, all butterfly-themed. He carefully used a finger to move them about, pushing them aside to see if there were any broken-off pieces. He did find one near the top right of the box.

In the meantime, Catherine had successfully made a print show up.  She tape-lifted it with a triumphant smile and proudly brought it to show Grissom.  "Hang one.  Toe print.  I'll have Sara compare it against both victims."

"Good."  Sara was the only unoccupied person.  "Warrick found a butterfly charm in the vacuum bag...I think I just found a piece from the same chain in this box."  He pointed to it.

"Butterfly huh?"  Catherine mused, her eyes moving to look over the rest of the trinkets.

"She had a collection." He seemed quite happy to announce that, and it was no wonder why.

"Gifts?  From her...gentleman callers?"

"Maybe the killer was taking his gift back.  As in, leave no trace.  Maybe he finally ran out of patience and got sloppy."  At the last sentence, his voice deepened, as if he was challenging the unseen and unknown perpetrator.  Upon shining his torch on the shelf below, he found a strand of hair.  Short and white, as would come from an elderly man.  He squatted, with Catherine following suit, and picked it up with his tweezers.  "And this is why I didn't leave."  His voice was soft with excitement and victory. Catherine left to bring the hair and toe print back to the laboratory, giving the print to Sara and the hair to Greg. Gil got back to Warrick and informed him of the matching butterfly.

Sara went to take the lower ten cards of both victims. Having finally gotten the chance to look at Debbie, she moved the swivel chair she was sitting on to draw herself up beside the victim's face. She stared down at it.  And suddenly, she understood.  She understood Gil's skittishness, understood why he had been reluctant to let her in on the case.  And she was, of course, haunted; it could very well have been her on Al's slab.  She glanced about, not knowing what to think; she could not articulate her emotions even in her own head. Eventually, they settled on one person: Gil. Gil, her protector; the person who had been 'protecting' her from this case at any rate.  She would speak to him to clear her head; she could always talk to him, and he would never turn her away. Well...he used to. But that was when his feelings towards her were even more of a mess than they currently were. He had progressed a lot with her help.

With that temporary comfort, she finished up and went to run the prints through AFIS. That took several hours. By the time that day shift roller around, both Debbie Marlin and Michael Clark were ruled out.  She then went to find Gil.  Or Catherine; whichever she found first. She went to the shift supervisor's office; nobody was there. And nobody was in the assistant shift supervisor's office either. But after some wandering around, she found Catherine in the locker room, sitting on a bench and changing her shoes. "Hey," Sara called, trying to seem cheery, "you seen Grissom?"

"He's still at the crime scene," Catherine responded, glancing at her as she did.

Sara nodded to signify her acknowledgment before reporting, "I eliminated both victims from the print you pulled off the bed."

"Well we know she was fishing off the company pier..." Sara responded with a look and a nod. "You uh, seen Debbie?" Catherine looked at her properly, wanting to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah," she said laconically, not wanting to give anything away.

"And?" Catherine enquired.

"Yeah I compared her...toe prints," she avoided still, her expression hardening.

Seeing as that would lead nowhere, Catherine decided to comment, "If I didn't know better I'd think that it was you on that table."

"I didn't really...look at her face," Sara denied. Noticing Sara seemed sad somehow, Catherine relented and just gave her a knowing look. Sara let her face fall, and allowed herself to sound as pleading as she really was when she asked, "If you see Grissom will you tell him?" Catherine nodded sincerely. Sara just walked off after that. The assistant shift supervisor convened with Jim and they went to Desert Palm print samples.  They did find a match; Dr.  Tripton.  Catherine phoned Gil and informed him of it.