The evening had been quiet so far. Las Vegas was behaving itself for a change.

The investigators of the Las Vegas Crime Lab were not idle, exactly. Sara, bored out of her mind, had gone to help Mandy with a backlog of fingerprint research. Nick was lurking in the lab proper as if he were a quality assurance investigator, and getting on Greg’s nerves. Warrick was sitting in the break room appearing idle, but was in fact reading an article on videotaping crime scenes for further study.

And Catherine sat across from him attempting to reconcile her overtime for the month. She knew that at any moment....

“Where’s your OT forms Catherine?” Grissom asked, sticking his head around the corner.

“Just a minute...” she said, screwing her face up at the figures that wouldn’t tally.

“Didn’t your mother ever warn you your face might freeze that way?” He joked mildly, coming into the room.

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed, finding her error. A quick squiggle with an eraser, and the jotting of her pencil...

“Done!” she said, holding the form triumphantly out to him.

He shook his head as he accepted it, suppressing a smile.

“Warrick? If that article isn’t too diverting, there’s a 7-20 at the fairgrounds. Take Sara, she’s about to drive Mandy up the wall.”

“Right. I’m on it.” the dark young man said, He put aside his magazine, and rose.

“You know,” he teased as he passed her “if you kept up with it on a weekly basis...”

“And when, pray tell did you do yours, Warrick?” she sniped back playfully, knowing full well it was just that morning.

He glanced at his boss, who was watching the verbal match with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“I plead the Fifth.” he finished with a grin, and left the room.

Grissom came inside, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Doin’ the Monthly reports?” Catherine asked.

He nodded taking a sip. “Greg made the coffee tonight I gather.”

“Yeah, those forty dollar a pound beans really make the difference, don’t they?” Catherine agreed.

“Look,” She continued after a moment, “it’s pretty slow right the moment. Why don’t you try and get those done, and I’ll cover.”

Grissom regarded her doubtfully.

“If it gets busy, well...”

“Oh, when it get busy, then you’ll want my help--but not before?”

“Well,” she grinned “I’d rather have my overtime.” He chuckled at that.

“Let me know if you leave on a call.” he told her.

With that, he departed, his coffee in one hand and Catherine’s overtime card in the other.

Warrick and Sara were guided thru the back gates for the race track, and to the stables. There, lights blazed in the darkness, making it almost seem daylight. As they pulled up, they could hear the snorts and frightened whinnies of the horses. They pulled their gear out of the car, and followed the directions of a track security guard inside.

They were led into the stable-down to a stall. A chestnut horse, in a cooling blanket, was being walked up and down in the main corridor, the female handler talking to it soothingly. Its head would jerk, and it would dance a couple of steps, before falling into step with the girl once again.

“Hey, O’Riley.” Sara called in greeting.

In the background, they could hear squealing. There was a scuffling noise, and two stable hands came charging out from behind several bales of hay, chasing a small but quick animal. It ran passed Sara and Warrick, turned quickly and charged into another set of hay bales. The pacing horse gave a shrill whinny.

“What was that!” Sara exclaimed, still looking to where the animal had disappeared.

“That” said Detective O’Riley “was a pig.” He shook his head. “A Vietnamese Potbelly Pig, to be exact. It’s stable mate.” pointing to the walking horse. “C’mon, it’s this way. Don’t know how much you can find, considering...”

He showed them the stall. The deceased was still inside. Sara pulled out her camera and began taking photos.

“What happened?” Warrick asked.

“Well, what we think happened was Mr. Fletcher here,” he told them “heard a commotion down at this part of the stable. He came to investigate, came upon someone in the stall, and was shot. We‘ve begun the preliminary interviews.”

“What’s that there?” Sara asked, pointing to a splash of blood on the hay at the rear of the stall. She took a picture as Warrick carefully acquired a sample of blood stained hay.

“We think the perpetrator was attempting to lame the racehorse. And the pig bit him.”

“Bit him?” Sara and Warrick both looked at him incredulously.

“Yeah, there’s blood on the pigs....uhm, snout. When we removed the horse from the stall, the pig ran out and...”

“Thus began the pig catching contest. Gottcha.” Sara said with a grin. Warrick continued collecting samples. Suddenly there was a high, loud squeal. Sara looked out of the stall.

“There piggy, piggy.” A stable hand crooned, now holding the captured porcine, jostling it gently. Sara went out to take a closer look.

“May I?” Sara asked. After taking several pictures of the animal, she put on gloves and she gently wiped a gauze pad across the pig’s nose, collecting a blood sample. Then she took a swab, and looked questioningly at the stable hand. “Can I check it’s--teeth?”

The pig, though much calmer now, shied initially away from Sara’s touch. She gently opened it’s mouth, and looked inside.

“Hm, something’s there.” She took a pair of tweezers and carefully removed what looked like a piece of skin, and a thread of material. She placed each in an evidence container.

Then, she stroked the pig lightly on its forehead.

“Poor pig.”

“His name is Crockett.” the handler said, still jostling the pot belly pig gently.

“Crockett?” she smiled “As in Davy?” The man shook his head.

“No, from ‘Miami Vice’.” he told her. Sara chuckled.

“Well Crockett,” she added, “who knows? You may have just become a crime fighter too.” She stroked the pig once more. Crockett oinked, and nudged her palm gently. “Yeah, we have to stick together, don’t we?”

Warrick wandered off, tracking and photographing blood drops. They disappeared outside the stable. He came back inside.

“Making friends?” he joked. Sara chuckled and gave Crockett a pat on the head.

“Crockett here tried to take a bite out of our perp.” she told him. “If you’re done, we should be getting back.”

“Yeah, O’Riley’s doing the interviews later this morning. We can come back later.”

Sara and Warrick pulled into the Criminalistics parking lot as Nick and Catherine were leaving the building.

“What’s up?” Warrick asked, as they passed each other.

“Fire over on Valley View Blvd. Apparent arson, and they found someone inside.” Nick said as Catherine moved on to the car. “How did yours go?”

Warrick glanced at his partner. “Well, Sara made a new friend.”

“Hey, Crockett may just help break this.” she insisted.

“And pigs may fly...” Warrick teased.

Sara grinned, and pointed up--at the police helicopter flying overhead.

“You never know.” she chuckled, and went inside. Warrick shook his head and followed.

Nick joined Catherine in the car. The drive was a short trip from the lab.

The building, a renovated convenience store it looked like, stood alone in a parking lot full of firemen and their equipment. A Haz-Mat team was just entering, The fire inspector was there, his marked car parked off to one side. The air smelled of acrid smoke and water vapor. An ambulance pulled away, red lights and siren blaring.

“Not going to be much left for us,” Nick observed, as he and Catherine pulled their gear out of the car.

Fire Inspector came out shaking his head. He pulled off his helmet and swiped the back of his arm across his brow.

“What happened?

The Inspector sighed heavily. “This shouldn’t have happened. Sprinkler system was defective, and didn‘t come on. Otherwise, not nearly this much damage should have occurred.”

“Who left in the ambulance?” Jim Brass asked, joining them.

“One of the personnel. Found her in a cubical, or what was left of one, under a wall partition.”

“Motive?”

“None yet. Front door glass broken, entry gained there.” he pointed. “Five gallon gasoline can found in reception area. Trail leads back to where girl located. Looks like a torch job gone wrong.”

The small building looked the mess it was. Basically gutted, the flimsy dividing partitions had burned or fallen to the floor. The remains of several desks, with burned out compute monitors, and some office furniture was all that remained.

“Why don’t you stay here, Nick, co-ordinate with Arson. I’ll head on over to the hospital, and check out our victim.” Catherine said. The Fire Inspector nodded in agreement.

“Sounds like a plan.” Nick replied, and followed the Fire Inspector back into the building.

“You want to ride with me?” Brass asked. “I can drop you off at the Lab afterwards.”

Catherine grinned. “Sounds like a plan.” she echoed, and followed him to his car.

It was two hours before they could speak to the ER attending physician managing the burn victim.

“She’s a train wreck.” he said, shaking his head while wiping his face with his hand tiredly. “What do you want first?”

“I thought she was just a burn victim?” Catherine asked.

Brass’s cell phone rang. He stepped aside to answer it while Catherine continued the conversation.

The tired attending shook his head. “The burns and the smoke inhalation are bad enough--she might could have pulled thru those. No, she has a broken nose, two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and severely bruised kidneys. Multiple bruises and contusions. Somebody kicked the crap out of her first.”

Brass snapped his cell phone shut and rejoined them.

“Can we see her?” The attending looked around.

“We’re sending her up now.” Three people pushing a gurney exited a cubical. “Give them twenty minutes, then ICU should be ready.

“Her personal effects around?” Brass asked.

“Uhm, yeah.” he replied, motioning to the group moving the gurney. “Give them her effects.” he called, gesturing to Brass and Willows.

A woman in blue scrubs abandoned the procession for a moment, carrying an envelope. The attending moved away to join the others, and they continued on their way to ICU.

The ER nurse gave Catherine the victim’s effects. “There’s not much there.” she said.

Catherine smiled her thanks.

The nurse nodded, then she hurried off to join the others.

The CSI officer opened the manila envelope. The nurse was correct, there wasn’t much in it.

“They’re checking out her apartment now.” Brass stated, looking over Catherine’s shoulder. “What have you got?”

“Not much...” She put on a pair of gloves and pulled a necklace with a heart-shaped locket out by the thin and blackened chain. Cradling the locket in her hand, she thumbed the release. It popped open to reveal two slightly singed photos. Catherine gasped softly.

“Oh my god.” she whispered, her mouth dropping in amazement and shock. Holding the necklace in both hands, she showed it to Brass.

“Shit.” He met her gaze. “They found her purse at the site. Her name is--are you ready for this? Gillian Grissom.”

“I don’t think he knows.” she continued, glancing over her shoulder to the hall where the young woman had been transported.

“We have to tell him.”

Jim’s gaze followed hers. “How do you tell a man the daughter he never knew he had” they turned to each other, their eyes meeting “is probably going to die?”

Grissom sat in his office doing departmental paperwork. He enviably put this off for as long as he could, because he considered it busy work and extremely annoying. But overtime had to be accounted monthly, and supplies accounted for the budget. He pursed his mouth unknowingly as he thought, running down the figures on the page, tapping the paper occasionally with the eraser end of a pencil.

His door opened, he glanced up. Catherine and Jim stood in the doorway.

“What’s up?” he asked, pushing the paperwork away, glad for a break, even a tiny one.

The pair looked at each other, not knowing how to begin. Catherine finally moved forward. She poured the necklace out of the manila envelope she held. She placed the envelope on his desk, and let the necklace slide from her hand onto it.

Gil bent over it a moment. Then the blood drained from his face.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded tightly, as he spun in his chair and grabbed a pair of gloves from a box he kept nearby.

“Off the 420Z.” Cat said, nipping her lip. They watched him swiftly pull on the gloves and turn back to the necklace. “Hospital effects.” He popped the locket open. Stared at the photos inside.

“We’ve ID’d her.” Brass said softly. “Her name is Gillian Grissom.”

Gil looked up abruptly, his eyes full of disbelief and pain.

“I’m sorry, Gil.” Cat said. She wanted to say more, but what could she say?

She looked to Jim. He shrugged, not knowing what to say either. “I’m sorry.” she repeated in a whisper.

“Where” his voice cracked, “where is she?”

“Desert Palm Hospital.” Catherine told him softly.

Gil looked back down at the locket he held delicately in both hands.

“If you want to talk later...” Brass said finally, forced to say something by the pained expression Grissom still wore.

He looked up, nodded vaguely, then looked back to the locket.

“C’mon Catherine.” Brass said, very softly, gently pulling on her arm.

Then the two slipped away, leaving Grissom alone with his thoughts

He sat in his office for some time, his mind a blur. Wondering why he hadn’t known. Wondering what had happened. Wondering what this young woman, who bore his name, was like.

Movement in the hallway caught his eye. It was Brass, leaving.

“Hey Jim!” Gil called, motioning him to come in..

He came and stuck his head inside the office.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m not ‘okay’. I’ve just been told I have a daughter, who someone tried to torch. I’d like some answers,” he finished painfully, “and there’s no one to ask.”

His cell phone rang. “Grissom.” he answered crisply.

“Uh, Grissom?” Nick replied. “I’m at...um the Apartment. We’ve found some things you might want to come over and take a look at.”

“Something about the crime?” sitting forward in his chair.

“Uh, no. About you.”

Gil’s head snapped up. He met Jim’s concerned gaze.

“Give me that address Nick, “ he said, grabbing a pencil “I’ll be right over.”

“I’ll catch you later.” Brass said. Gil nodded absently, already grabbing his jacket.

Fifteen minutes later, Grissom walked up the two flights of stairs, and into the corridor. Went down to 309. He opened the door carefully.

“Nick?” he called. His young staff member stuck his head out of the tiny bathroom.

“In here Gris.” and moved back inside.

Grissom shut the door, and moved to the doorway to stand behind Nick. He was carefully examining the contents of the medicine cabinet.

“Nothing unusual here.” The two men exchanged places. Gil looked carefully into the medicine cabinet.

“Excedrin Migraine.” he noted aloud. Nick nodded moving back into the main part of the tiny one bedroom apartment. Gil followed.

“She made the most of her space.” Nick said with an approving nod. A green futon was up against the wall. Two pairs of bookcases back to back formed a partition.

A door led to the bedroom. Gil opened it and glanced inside. Four more bookcases lined the walls, barely leaving room for the full sized bed and matching bureau. The bedding was a dark midnight blue. A print of Monet’s ‘Sunflowers’ hung on the wall over it. The closet door was closed.

“It’s over here.” Nick called from the main room.

Gil closed the bedroom door and followed Nick’s voice to the other side of the free standing bookcases. A desk was pushed up against the outer wall, the office chair pushed in. “There’s that.” gesturing to one bookcase. Gil moved closer. An entire shelf was devoted to books and articles he’d published over the years. The shelf above sported an old fashioned ant farm. Underneath it was a small five gallon aquarium with three goldfish. The pump hummed softly.

“Here’s a picture of her.” Nick handed him the framed photograph. It was of a young woman in a gold cap and gown--high school graduation. He could see why it would startle Nick, for except for the straight light brown hair and upturned nose she’d inherited genetically from her mother-her face was a feminine reflection of his own.

“And then, there’s these...” Nick opened a deck drawer, and removed a CD storage folder. “There’s more in there. She’s been making these for some time.”

Nick reached over and turned on the screen of the desktop computer. The desktop icons and wallpaper of the skyline of Las Vegas at night sharpened into focus. Nick pressed a couple of keys, then backed off.

“I only watched a bit of this first one,” gesturing to the computer. “Then I called Catherine--and then you.” He carefully placed a key on the edge of the desk.

“Lock up when you leave, Boss.”

Gil was still staring at the picture of the young woman in her cap and gown when he heard the front door close quietly as Nick left.

He pulled out the chair and sat down at the computer. Set the picture down on the desk beside it. Then opened the first file.

Gillian’s face appeared, wearing a small silly grin. He looked up. Ah, web cam, he noted.

“Hello, Dad.” The sound of her voice-- what she said--startled him. “I just got this today,” Gil glanced at the time stamp. It was six month’s previously. “And I got the idea to do this. I know, it’s chicken of me not to say this face to face but...” Her face clouded, shy and fearful at the same time “this way I won’t see if there’s any rejection in your eyes as I talk. I’ve told myself, five to ten minutes a day. The man at the computer store said it would eat up disc space, but I don’t care. I have a lot to say and I want to say it.”

She went on, explaining details bit by bit in each new entry. His questions were slowly answered: she was born in Paris, her mother died in an accident when she was five.

Sent home to her Grandparents to live- people who seemed to keep their distance from her, it sounded. How they disapproved of her liking insects as she grew up. Playing summer baseball. High school; here he was glad she seemed to have friends, unlike himself. Her developing interest in public health. In women’s issues. College. Her first job.

As a disc finished he changed it to the next. And the next. And the next....

Then her Grandparents died suddenly. She was sorting thru boxes in the attic when she came across a box of her mother’s college things. Her journals--journals in her senior year that began to mention Gil, with greater and more intense regularity.

He jumped when his cell phone rang.

“Grissom.” he answered.

“Gil,” Catherine’s voice coming thru “I just heard from the hospital. Gillian’s been downgraded to ‘grave condition.’ I thought....I thought you might like to know. She has no next of kin--”

“She does now.” He replied firmly. “Thanks Catherine, I’m on it.” He hung up, speed dialed another number. He turned in the chair, surprised to notice it was growing light outside. He’d been at the--at Gillian’s, he amended, for hours.

“Brass here.”

“Jim? It’s me. Look, I need a favor.....”

“So,” Sara asked, peering over Greg’s shoulder, “what have you got?”

“Well, let me see...” He shuffled through a pile of print outs. “Ahh. Here we are. Okay, blood is from two different sources. One matches the victim-courtesy of the coroner. One is unknown. The unknown sample matches the blood and skin samples taken from...”

“Yes,” Sara sighed, tired of having to say it “a pig. A Vietnamese potbelly pig.”

“So, it would be safe to say the pig bit the assailant. You might want to get teeth moldings....”

“Thank you, Greg. Already on it.”

“Say” Greg said softly, “Did you hear about Grissom?” Sara shook her head as Warrick joined them in the DNA lab.

Greg‘s voice dropped to a low tone. “His long lost daughter was in the 420z.”

“No way!” Sara exclaimed. Greg nodded his head. “No way!” she said again.

But Greg’s solemn face belied her feelings. “Oh, my god, you’re not for real?”

“She’s at Desert Palm, and not doing so hot I hear....”

The two CSI’s glanced at each other with a mixture of horror and amazement.

“Where is he, how’s he taking it?”

The lab tech looked at her sharply. “How would you take it?”

“Hey,” Warrick put in. “Everybody chill. Where’s Grissom now, he wasn’t in his office?”

“Evidently Nick found some stuff at her apartment--he’s over there right now.”

“Oh my god. Poor Grissom!”

“Let’s cut the gossip.” a sharp voice came from behind them They turned to find Catherine paused in the doorway.

“Listen up. I don’t want to hear anything else about this, unless Grissom himself clears it. You got that?” she finished, shaking a finger at all three. “He’s stressed out enough....”

Sara, Warrick, and Greg all shook their head solemnly. Catherine in mother mode was not to be taken lightly.

She gave them one last sideways look.

“Alright then. Back to work.” With that, she turned and swept away.

“Why do I feel like” Greg muttered, “I should be sitting in the corner?”

The others nodded in agreement.

As favors went, it was a big one.

However, Brass thought, it was like it was meant to be. The dominos simply fell away as he tracked the documentation Grissom would require to become Gillian Grissom’s legal and healthcare representative. Most of it was provided by the State of Nevada, for the young woman had been issued a license by the state as a crisis councilor, which required multitudinous amounts of paperwork. He contacted the State Department for her paperwork on her return from France as a child. Jim used his position as Homicide Captain to have the files faxed to him at the department. Then, a quick call to a friendly Bailiff, he and Grissom had an appointment for 9:30 that morning with a judge.

Gil, while his good friend was accomplishing what seemed the impossible, paced. He paced at Gillian’s, and then deciding this wasn’t gaining himself anything, went back to the office. Then he began pacing there. About 6:30 he gave up, sat down at his computer, and wrote out a indefinite Leave Of Absence notice, that was effective immediately. He printed it up and signed it, somehow feeling better after having done so.

Brass called at 8:30, and told him about the meeting.

“Everything seems to be set. I’ve talked to almost everyone concerned, and they see no reason for Judge Rhinehart not to sign the paperwork. The clerk is finishing printing up the documents now.” He paused a moment.

“I’ll be there.” Grissom told him.

He closed his eyes a moment, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache that was threatening.

His door opened, he glanced up. It was Greg Sanders.

“What?” he snapped, and rubbed his forehead.

“Sorry, I...”

“Hey, that’s alright.” Greg said. Coming forward, he placed a cup of coffee before his boss. “Day shift will drink swill and call it coffee. I though you might like the last of my pot...”

Grissom looked at the paper cup, then up to the lab technician. “Thanks Greg.”

Sanders gave him a sad and uncertain smile. He acted like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it, shrugged, and quietly left.

Gil took a sip of the coffee, letting the warmth of the fluid deep through him. He reached over and took some over-the-counter pain killers. Then he stuffed the end of the month reports into his satchel, finished his coffee and left the room.

He stopped in the locker room, to change to a clean shirt. As he was finishing buttoning it up, he was interrupted by Ecklie storming in like there was no tomorrow

“What’s this--a Leave of Absence?” he asked, rattling the paper in front of Gil’s nose.

“That’s right.” he replied smoothly, shutting his locker.

“You don’t have any family.” Ecklie insisted, reading of the reason as ‘family business’.

“In about thirty minutes,” Gil told him as he walked out of the locker room, “I will have.” He left wearing a faint smile.

Gil met Brass at Judge Rhinehart’s office with five minutes to spare. They went into the outer office. The clerk was waiting for them.

“The Judge is glancing over the paperwork as we....”

The intercom buzzed.

With a slight smile, the clerk opened the inner office door, and ushered in the two men.

A blonde, pretty woman of about 45 rose from behind her desk, and came around it.

“Mr. Grissom?” She questioned, offering her hand. Gil took it, and then she shook hands with Jim Brass. She motioned for them to be seated.

“I’m amazed at the speed which your petition has been processed.”

“Frankly,” Brass put in as he sat down, “so am I.”

“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, to see us, your Honor.” Grissom said.

She smiled sadly.

“I’m simply pleased we are able to assist.” She returned to her seat. “You understand,” she went on, offering him a copy of the legal document, “this, in essence, gives you parental rights and control. You will become responsible for Gillian’s legal and medical well being until she recovers, or,”

“I understand, your Honor.” he replied quickly, cutting her off--to everyone’s relief. He skimmed the document quickly, and nodded.

She held out her hand, and he gave it back to her.

“Have you seen her yet?” she asked, picking up her pen.

“Hospital’s the next stop.” Brass told her.

She pressed her intercom buzzer again. From the outer office came the clerk, from the courtroom came the Bailiff.

She signed the three copies of the document that made Gil Grissom Gillian Grissom’s legal guardian. The bailiff signed as one witness, Brass signed as the other. The clerk, notarized them, folded one up and put it into a cream colored envelope, which he handed to the Judge. She stood and handed it to Gil.

“Robert will fax a copy to the Hospital. That copy is yours. Any problems, give Robert” nodding to her clerk “a call, and he’ll take care of .it.”

Grissom and Brass rose to their feet, and shook her hand once more.

“Thank you your Honor.”

“Mr. Grissom, I have two children. I can’t begin to know the pain you’re experiencing. But, I wish you well--and I wish you luck.” With that, she moved to her coat rack, to put on her robe. “Good day gentlemen.”

Grissom and Brass left as she walked out of her office and into her courtroom to begin her day.

By the time they got there, word had spread to the ICU staff. Gillian’s nurses, for she shared a second with another patient, had pulled a lounger into the cramped single hospital room and placed it as out of the way as they could. They had tidied the girl up from Physician’s rounds and assorted morning lab work and treatments.

But Gillian still looked pale and blackened. IV poles hung around her head like a mini forest. Her ventilator, for she now required assistance with her breathing, whispered softly and rhythmically, as did her other monitors. Her shoulder length hair, or what was left of it, spilled onto a pristine white pillowcase. Her face was partially covered in gauze, her nose taped and black circles under her eyes. A pale blue sheet draped a curved metal frame, covering her body yet keeping anything from touching the second and third degree burns beneath it.

Brass left Grissom with the attending physician, who was waiting for him.

“I’ll check on you this afternoon.” he said, and slipped away to try and get some sleep.

Gillian’s doctor briefed Gil on his daughter’s status. Medication to keep her blood pressure up. Narcotics for the pain. Antibiotics to ward off infection. Discussion of current blood work and X-rays. The Doctor was general, and thorough.

“May I see her now?” Grissom asked hesitantly. The Doctor scoffed at himself

“You mean you haven’t yet? I’m sorry, I thought...”

“It’s been a long day...” Gil replied. “A long night. It feels like years...”

The doctor led him to a room near the back of the unit. The blinds were drawn, the door closed. He opened the door and they went inside.

Classical music played softly in the background accompanied by her various monitors. A short brunette woman in blue scrubs stood from a small inset writing desk in the corner, and came to greet them.

“Mr. Grissom? I‘m Martha, Gillian’s primary nurse. Susan is her other nurse, she‘s with her other patient right now. One of us will be in here all the time.” She met the eyes of the doctor, who nodded, and left. “She looks like she was very pretty--before...” she broke off suddenly. Gently, she took his arm, and drew him over to the still young woman’s side.

“Is she in any pain?” he whispered. Martha glanced up at the monitors, and shook her head.

“No, she seems fairly comfortable at the moment. She can hear you, you know.” she added. “Talk to her, if you want. Do you have any questions?”

“Not right the moment. Dr Osborne’s information seemed pretty detailed.” He stood, attempting to take it all in.

The door opened, and another nurse, this one in lavender scrubs entered, pushing an office chair.

“Hi. I’m Susan. Just occurred to me, you might want to sit with her a while.” she smiled kindly. She wheeled the chair up next to Gillian, and gently pressed him onto it. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine.” he said, leaning over the bed, and gazing at his daughter.

The two women looked at each other, and went back to work.

Jim Brass woke up after only five hours of sleep.

It was just as well. His dreams were odd, featuring Grissom and his daughter in a life Brass knew never was and could never be. They were really disturbing.

Giving up on more sleep he rose and cleaned up. After a few unavoidable household chores, he left his apartment and went in search of lunch.

Afterwards he stopped by the office, for no particular reason.

“Hey, Captain!” a dayshift Sergeant called to him, “You have a response from your query to State!”

He wandered over to his desk, and found the printed copy. Copies, for there were three documents laying on his otherwise clean desk.

The first was a copy of Gillian’s birth certificate. She was born in the American Hospital in Paris. Mother’s name, Patience Ashworth. Father’s name (there in black and white) Gil Grissom.

The next was a letter from the Second Assistant Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs, aka Michael Betts. In it, Secretary Betts explained the third letter and the wish for it to be passed on the involved party.

The third letter was also from Betts, but addressed to Grissom via Brass. In it, he professed the humblest apologies for the mistake of sending his daughter to her maternal grandparents without consulting him first. Parental rights should have superseded grandparents-he should have been notified and asked if he wished custody of his daughter. The only explanation for this failure he noted, was a inter-departmental shake up at that time. Somehow, Gillian had been misplaced in the shuffle-the letter to her father never sent. So assuming denial, they sent the child to her grandparents.

“Great. That’s just great.” he sighed. “Cover your butts.” He reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a clean file folder, and placed the letters in it.

“Anybody wants me,” he announced to all in general. “I’m over at Desert Palm hospital.”

With that, he left.

It was almost three when he arrived.

He slipped his badge over the outside of his coat pocket and strolled unimpeded into the ICU, stopping at the desk.

“Gillian Grissom?” he asked

The unit clerk gestured down the hall. “Room 712.” With a nod he sauntered down to the room.

The door was closed, the blinds drawn tight. He could hear medical equipment beeping softly thru the covered window.

Brass faltered. He didn’t want to give Grissom his information, but still, he deserved to know. His head came up, he squared his shoulders. Then he rapped firmly on the door.

A nurse in lavender scrubs answered “I’m sorry. No visitors except family.” she whispered.

“Tell him it’s....”

“Brass?” the male voice he knew well spoke. The door opened a bit more, allowing the policeman a glance inside. He saw the life support equipment, the shrouded body and Grissom coming toward him. He stepped back, drawing Gil out of the room to follow him--away from the scent of oncoming death. He offered Grissom a half hearted smile.

“How’s she doing?” he asked, feeling helpless in the asking. Grissom’s affirmative nod made him feel worse.

“She’s holding her own. She’s a tough girl.” he added with a bit of pride in his voice, glancing over his shoulder, back toward the room.

“Hey” he said with a shrug, not knowing what else to say. “She’s a Grissom. I’ve heard tell they’re tough.”

He actually made Grissom smile, abet a tiny one. “You don’t normally haunt hospitals without a purpose, Jim. What’s up?”

The police Captain waved the file folder in his hand. “Our glorious federal tax dollars at work.”

Gil scowled at him. “Make sense.”

“When I checked the State of Nevada for Gillian’s background information, I remembered you had said something about her being born and orphaned overseas. So I contacted the State department. This was waiting when I came in this afternoon....” He handed Gil the folder.

Gil looked it over carefully. Brass watched the blood drain from his face for the second time in twenty-four hours. Led his friend to a nearby chair, so he could sink in to it, rather than to the floor.

“She came to the day/night shift ball game, did I tell you that?” Grissom said, still looking at the unforgivable letter. “She said she screamed so loud, she was hoarse the next day. If I think back, I think I can hear her....”

Jim shuffled his feet, feeling uncomfortable with these personal admissions.

“You want to go out for a bit? Get some coffee, or something?”

Gil rose steadily to his feet, shaking his head. “No, but thanks Jim. I still need to finish the...”

“the monthly reports.” Brass nodded. “I don’t miss doing those. Okay, I’ll try and check in with you later.” He watched as Grissom silently back in to his daughter’s room and close the door. Then he left, feeling a great desire to get out into the fresh Nevada sunshine...

Sara and Brass almost bumped into each other as they entered the Bureau of Criminalistics a bit later.

“Aren’t you maxed out on overtime?” Brass stated ironically. Sara shrugged.

“Wanted to see how the preliminary interviews went.” she said, falling in step with him as they wandered over toward the Police department side of the building.

There were a few Detectives still around from days when she arrived.

“Oh, yeah, the track case.” one of them told her. “O’Riley was called out there again just before shift change. Turns out, two horses were attacked.”

“Say what?” she asked

“Uh, something about ‘needling a joint’? Evidently, that happens, game over. Horse can’t run distances again. Or, something to that effect.”

“So, he thinks maybe this is our guy? The horse mutilator?”

The detective nodded.

Sara thought for a moment, then glanced at her watch. Plenty of time.

“If he comes in early, would you tell him I went out there?”

“Sure Sidle“ he replied absently, his mind returning to the report he was reading.

Sara took a breath and sighed deeply.

Thirty minutes later she was out at the track, her CSI badge gaining her entry into the stable area. She grabbed her equipment box from the trunk of her car, just in case, and took it in with her. After checking in at the security office, she wandered down the stable hall.

“Hey, hi. You’re back.” a voice called

Sara turned toward the voice. It was the girl who had been calming the horse from last night.

“Hi. Sara Sidle, Crime Lab.”

The girl offered her hand. “Penny Kroft. Stable hand and part time UNLV student.” Both women laughed.

“So, how’s Crockett and.....?”

“Imperial Pride?” Penny answered, leading the way to the stall. “Come see for yourself.” They stopped in front of the stall, and the horse stuck it’s head out.

“Hey Impy, how are you doin’?” the stable hand crooned, stroking the chestnut’s long, sleek neck. There was a snuffle, and then a soft oink.

“Say, Crockett!” Sara exclaimed softly. “What’s up, my man?”

Crockett looked up at her from the stall floor and gave what sounded like a happy oink Sara grinned. Penny carefully opened the lower stall door, kneeling before it.

“Come on out, Crockett, and say hello.” she offered. The small pig waddled out and stopped before Sara. He sat on his haunches, gazing up at her. Penny reached over, scooped him up and came to her feet.

“He remembers you.” she said. Sara reached out and gently scratched behind the pig’s ears. “Pigs are smart. Too bad the others didn’t have stable mates.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna help us catch whoever did this, aren’t you Crockett?” Sara said, tickling him under the chin and chuckling when he closed his eyes in blissful contentment.

“Are you here for more evidence?” Penny asked, putting Crockett back into the stall and closing the door. Sara watched as Imperial Pride bent his head down and gently nuzzled Crockett’s head. The pig looked up and the pair touched noses. Then Crockett shuffled back to his resting place at the rear of the stall.

“Just taking another look around, if that’s okay?”

“Sure.” said Penny. “Take your time. Yell if you need anything.”

“Will do. Oh, where were the other two horses?”

“Just over here.” Penny said, leading the way. She pointed out the stalls.

“They have....anything in common that you can think of?” Sara asked.

Penny thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Different stables and trainers. Haven’t raced against each other for a while. Actually, end of the season, I think all three are being retired. Put out to stud.”

“Hey, aren’t stud fees like, enormous?” Sara said suddenly.

Penny nodded. “They can be. It all depends on breeding and of course their track record. The better that is, the higher the fee will be.”

“Lucky guys.” Sara chuckled. Then Penny moved off to continue her chores.

Sara got on her hands and knees and scrutinized to stable floor carefully from Imperial Pride’s stall to the near stable doors. Nothing.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” she said to herself. She glanced at her watch. It was five- thirty. She could grab a spot of dinner, take a quick shower and check in with O’Riley, see what evidence days had collected from the stalls of the other two horses. Maybe the autopsy was complete. If so, she could check up on that and get caught up on her reports before her shift began.

Ugh, tomorrow was her day off. Best not think about that now, she decided.

“Bye Crockett!” she called softly, as she made her way out of the stable.

She grinned at the answering oink.

Exiting the elevator, Cat spied Gil sitting uncomfortably in the ICU waiting room, alone. As she crossed the space, he looked up, noticed her and came to his feet.

“How you doin’?” she asked gently, handing him one of the Starbuck’s Coffee cups she carried. He took a sip thru the cup lid. It was hot, and just the way he liked it.

“Thanks. The coffee around here’s a lot like at the office.”

She made a face. “Sludge, huh?” He nodded, taking another sip. “So, why are you out here?”

“Shift change. They chased me out--very diplomatically. Said I took up too much space.” He took another sip of his coffee. The warmth of the liquid and the jolt of the caffeine began to affect him. He felt almost normal. He gave a scoffing laugh at the thought.

“What?” Catherine prompted. He shook his head with a sigh.

“Normal. What is normal anymore?”

“Gil, you’ve been thru a lot the last 24 hours. You haven’t had anywhere near the time to process it.” She took his arm and led him back to the waiting room couch. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Not waiting for an answer, she pressed a paper sack into his free hand.

He opened it to find a turkey club sandwich inside.

“Let me guess--no bacon?” he asked, then tried to give it back to her. “I don’t want your dinner Catherine.”

“Then give me half. I’m starving.” she smiled.

Too tired to argue, he did as she requested. The pair sat in silent companionship for some time, munching quietly and drinking their coffee. As he finished the last bite, she produced some napkins from a pocket and handed him one. He took it and smiled thoughtfully.

“What?” she asked again, watching him stare at the napkin.

“Pat used to do this.”

“Pat?” she prompted “Gillian’s mom?” He nodded wistfully. “Tell me about her. How did you meet?”

“She came to the Maggot farm.” referring to the entomology lab by it’s morbid nickname. “I worked there four days a week. She was a journalism major that came to interview someone about the farm for the School paper. I just happened to be there.”

Memory overcame reality as he remembered. Answering the door to this pretty girl with shoulder length straight light brown hair and gray eyes, an upturned nose and an infectious smile.

He took her around the facility, small as it was, giving her the full spiel. She asked several intelligent questions, took a couple of pictures with a camera that had seen better days, and left with a cheery wave calling she would let him see a proof before the paper came out.

Two days later-at 10 at night-she came pounding on the office door. He answered it, if only to keep campus security from coming by to check the disturbance.

“Hey, Bug Guy! Open up! I brought your Maggots some dinner!” she called in a not very quiet voice. He opened the glass door a crack.

“Quiet!” he shushed loudly.

“But I brought your maggots dinner...” she complained, dropping her voice a bit.

“They have a strict diet, remember? The article?”

“Well,” she scoffed, “If your maggots are too upper crust to eat my pizza, I guess I’ll just have to find some homie maggots to share it with. Unless...” She peered at him thru her bangs. “You’d like to help me eat it.” He shook his head, a reluctant no.

She, however, didn‘t play fair. She whipped open the pizza box, and stuck it under his nose. “It’s got extra cheese...” she enticed. He began to waver. It did smell good, and he was hungry... Somehow she managed a balancing act with the pizza and her oversized bag that looked like could carry the state of Rhode Island. “Come on Grissom.” she cajoled, “I’ve got beer.” He remembered looking at her disapprovingly. At the look, those cans disappeared into the black hole that was her bag and two familiar red cans emerged. “Coke?”

Catherine chuckled. “Persistent, girl that.” Gil smiled.

“Her name.” he told her “was Patience.”

Cath hooted. “So let me guess. “She came back the next night?”

“No, the night after.” With greasy tacos and Pepsi. The next night, she not only brought food, but music.

“I have it on good authority that all living things like Mozart.” she informed him as she pulled a tape player out of her monstrosity of a bag. “Your maggots need some culture,”

“I found myself looking forward to her visits.” And he had. At first, when she stayed after feeding him, he worried she would disturb him with chatter. But no, she only reached into her bag pulled out a book, and began to read. When he got off at 1, he walked her to her car.

“And then she asked me to a double feature. Mutant Insects.” he chuckled, remembering his amazement that the pair of films were even in a theater, let alone together. Until she reminded him it was late October.

“She went home for Christmas break. When she came back, she had news. Actually, we both had news.”

“Let me guess,” Cat put in recalling some of his career history “You’d heard from the L. A. County coroner's office?” Gil nodded. They had offered him a job after graduation in June, as the youngest coroner in the department.

“Pat had received an offer as an intern for the International Herald newspaper, in Paris.”

“Wow.“ Cat said, impressed. “Major stumbling blocks.”

“That was just it. They weren’t. Not until her last night in town...”

Her Mom had gotten the Flu, so her folks couldn’t come to graduation. Pat had packed up her dorm room and shipped her belongings home and to Paris. Her plane was leaving in the morning.

“I took her out to dinner. Afterwards we walked. and talked. Wound up back at my rooms. That’s when I gave her the necklace....” Gil shook his head, bringing himself back to the present.

“And one thing led to another.” Catherine finished.

“The next morning, she was gone. She left a letter...” A letter saying for him not to follow her, but his original path. That if she gave up her opportunity, she might grow to hate herself--and him. And the thought of that was too much to bear. A clean break was the best way. (Though there were water spots on the letter that belied her feelings.)

The door to ICU opened, and a woman in blue scrubs peered out. She smiled when she spotted the pair together.

“You can come back in whenever you like, Mr. Grissom.” she said, then slipped back inside.

Catherine began putting the wrapping from their sandwiches into the paper sack. She tipped back her cup, finishing the last of the excellent coffee. Then she stood up.

“I better go. I just wanted to stop by...”

“Wait a minute.” Gil came to his feet. “I’ve been working on the ‘end of the month’ reports here, and I’ve finished. Would you mind taking them back to the office with you?”

She nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

“Be right back.” The ICU doors hissed open to admit him. They had just closed, when they opened once more for him to return, carrying a inter-department envelope.

“Now you have an excuse for coming by.” he said as he handed it to her.

“Gil, I don’t need an excuse to come by. I’m surprised the others have shown so much restraint and haven’t come by too.” She gave him a searching look. “You need anything, call me.” He nodded carelessly. She pushed his shoulder firmly, regaining his full attention. “I mean it. Call me.” she finished in her best Mom’s voice.

He met her gaze with a weak smile. “Bossy.” he murmured, getting a small grin in return. “Bye Catherine.”

With that, he turned away, and re-entered the ICU.

Warrick found Sara typing up what little she knew into a report on her computer.

“Hey.” he called, getting the younger woman’s attention. “You’re not gonna believe this, but there’s action out at our crime scene.”

Sara stopped typing and looked up. “What?”

“Something’s going down. Now. Let’s go.”

She jumped out of her seat, and moved to follow him. Then paused and moved back.

“Hurry up, Sara.” Warrick called as he strode down the hallway.

“Be right there!” she called after him, as she quickly saved what of her report she had written. Then at a sprint, she followed Warrick out to the Tahoe.

They arrived as an ambulance pulled up. The pair of CSI’s grabbed their gear, and headed into the now familiar stable. The various snorts, whinnys and neighs were almost deafening. And there was another squeal, one with which Sara was familiar.

O’Riley met them halfway down the stable hallway.

“Would you believe--He came back to finish what he started?” he told them without preamble.

“You’re kidding?” Warrick asked, shaking his head. Sara kept going, heading for Imperial Pride’s stall. She met a bleary eyed Penny, returning to the stable.

“The police had me take him over to the veterinary barn so he could be checked out. His trainer’s with him.”

“And Crockett?”

“He got away again. I think he’s hurt.”

Sara turned and looked to Warrick.

“Find him Sara. I’ll start the photos.”

O’Riley followed Warrick back to the stall. Inside, the straw was tossed about like there had been a struggle. And there was blood. A lot of blood.

“He got to the horse this time,” Warrick stated firmly, and slightly angry. O’Riley shook his head.

“No, this actually is all from the suspect.” he said. Warrick turned and met the man’s look.

“You telling me,” Warrick said cocking his head at O’Riley, “that the suspect came back--and got bit again?”

O’Riley, doing his best not to smile, nodded. “Right calf. Right where the pig bit him previously. Tore a piece out of him this time.” He gestured to the hay. Yes, there was something that appeared to be flesh laying amongst it. Warrick blinked as he pulled on a pair of gloves. He photographed the stall, taking samples and collecting the evidence acquired by Crockett.

The two men heard a soft squeal, and then a grunting sound.

“Got him!” Sara called. She came to the stall door, Penny passing swiftly behind her.

“He looks like he’s been kicked pretty bad. We’re taking him over to the vet. I’ll stay with him and collect any......”

“Oh, he’s evidence Sara.” Warrick stated holding up the flesh for her too see. “You know what to do.”

Her eyes widened for a moment. Then she gave a brisk nod.

“I’m on it.” she said, and took off after Penny at a trot.

After a few more minutes, Warrick was done. He packed up his gear. O’Riley looked at him.

“Shall we go talk to him?”

They walked out of the stable to the nearby paramedic van and ambulance. The smallish man sat, handcuffed, his right leg stretched out and the paramedics were bandaging his calf. The police officer who stood guard over him nodded to the pair as they walked up.

“This is Kevin Manning.” Officer Roberts stated, handing over the man’s wallet opened to his driver’s license to O’Riley.

“He also had this in his pocket, Detective.” he added, handing over a syringe, wrapped in a tissue. Warrick looked at the policeman with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s from a box in the rig.” he told him, gesturing to the red paramedic van. Warrick blew a sigh of relief and accepted the syringe.

“10 cc’s. Not a very big syringe. What were you injecting?”

Manning looked at them with pained defiance.

Just then, both Penny and Sara walked up. “Oh you weren’t injecting anything, were you?” Sara half snarled. Warrick looked at her , confused.

“The vet was here late, working on the other two horses hurt today? They both came up lame today after a fast workout.”

O’Riley shook his head. “Then what?”

“They were missing significant amounts of synovial fluid from the affected joints.” Penny said.

“It’s a lubricant for your joints, like oil for hinges.” Sara explained to O’Riley’s confused expression. “Not enough, and the joints seize. And at a run...”

“Horse blows out his damn knee.” Warrick growled, turning back to the man and giving him a narrow look. “Like taking a gun to it.” He pointed his finger at Manning’s knee. “Bamn.”

“But, it turns out, both Lightening Across The Sky and Anxiously Waiting” Sara went on, “were pulled up in time, before any permanent damage was done.”

“Doc says they’ll be fine with some treatment. Be able to race again in a month.” Penny added. Both Warrick and O’Riley nodded approvingly.

The paramedic shook his head. “He’s going to need to go to the hospital folks. Who gets to be Mr. Lucky?”

Officer Roberts sighed. “That would be me.”

“Okay, let’s load him up.”

The ambulance attendants brought over the stretcher, and the loaded the man onto it. Then they wheeled him off and loaded him into the ambulance, accompanied by the uniformed officer. Then they drove off, into the dark.

Warrick turned to Sara. “How’s your friend?”

“Just like his namesake. He’s tough.” Sara chuckled.

“The vet’s going to keep him overnight...so he and Imperial Pride can be near each other.” Penny said.

“And he’ll make the bite castings in the morning.” Sara finished.

“Well, I better follow them. We’ll meet you back at the office when he’s released.” O’Riley said, and moved off toward his car.

“Right. Warrick turned to Sara.

“I’ve been dying to say this, but--What do you call a pig that knows Karate?” he asked, and they strolled back toward the Tahoe.

“Oh, that’s easy.” She replied. “A pork chop. I‘ve got one. What do you call a smart pig?” she asked, as she reached their vehicle and opened the door.

“I know this one” Warrick replied. “A cunning Ham.”

“Nope.” she answered with a grin, climbing in and shutting her door firmly.

“No? Then what....?” He turned and looked at her wincing in preparation for the answer. Sara grinned.

“Crockett.” they chorused together, as Warrick shut his door and turned on the ignition. “I walked right into that one.”

“Yes, you did.” Sara laughed.

And with that, the pair began their trip back to the office.

“Mr. Grissom.” Dr. Osborne said gently. “We need to talk.”

The physician drew Gil out of Gillian’s room, and to a quiet corner.

“I’m aware of the circumstances between you and your daughter,” he began. “But I’m afraid I’m about to tell you the toughest thing a parent can hear. Do you want it straight, or would you like it disguised with medical terminology?”

Gil glanced back to the room for a moment. Then he turned back.

“Straight please.” he whispered his voice quivering slightly.

“All right. Why don’t we sit down?” Dr, Osborne dropped into a nearby chair Gil slipped into another.

“We’ve maxed Gillian out on her pressers.” Dr. Osborne began. “Any more would cause a reversal, and her blood pressure would bottom out. Because of this her kidneys are failing, in fact we expect systemic wide failure within several days. With the kidney failure her urine output has dropped to practically non existent-even with high doses of diuretics. Soon, she’ll begin to turn yellow and bloat....” He paused, shaking his head. “The burns alone, or the beating alone, I think she could have handled.” He paused, and shook his head sadly. “She’s not going to make it.”

Gil pressed his lips together tightly.

“I want to suggest the most horrible thing you can think of.” Dr. Osborne took a deep breath, and let it out heavily.

“Let her go. Before she becomes something that will haunt you forever. Now, I can’t press it legally. And I wouldn’t press it if I could. But, I strongly suggest you consider it carefully.” He rose to his feet. “I’m truly sorry...” He watched Gil a moment, then walked away.

After a moment, Gil went slowly back into Gillian’s room, returning numbly to the seat he had vacated.

He watched her breathe in and out, letting the machine do the work. His eyes narrowed, noticing now the things he hadn’t wanted to see before, the slight puffiness and yellow tinge to her skin. Mentally, he ticked off things--until he abruptly realized he was examining Gillian as he would a body at work.

He didn’t notice the sidelong glance Paulette gave him. How, as she updated her notes, she surreptitiously looked his way. How, as she changed out an empty IV bag, she slipped a box of tissues near his elbow. How she carefully tidied the room around him, and set a blanket near the lounger.

She sat firmly when she heard the sniffles, quietly reorganizing the chart which needed no reorganization. Studied old X-rays and lab reports. Was there, yet not there.

Grissom took an odd comfort in this. There was someone there, but they left him alone--left them alone. He found the tissues and, using them to clean up the sniffles that weren’t, felt a quiet peace descend on him.

Paulette looked up only when he came to her side.

“I’m ready to sign the Do Not Resuscitate form.” he said softly.

“I have one right here, Mr. Grissom.” she answered gently. She pulled it out and he signed it carefully.

“I think you should try to get some sleep.” Paulette told him, leading him to the lounger. “Or, at least close your eyes and relax.” He gave the barest of protests before allowing himself to be bundled into the chair. “Just lean back and relax. I’ll watch over Gillian.”

He closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of the machines, and music from a soft hits radio station.

He never noticed when Paulette carefully removed his glasses, slipped them in his pocket, and unfolded the blanket over his now sleeping form.

He woke up slowly, with the feeling that he was being watched. He turned his head to look at Gillian, and met a soft blue-gray gaze.

He gasped. She was awake! Somehow, thru the narcotics and the pain, she had regained consciousness and had been watching him as he slept.

He threw the blanket over him aside, almost tripping over it and his feet in his hurry to move swiftly to her side. He failed to see Paulette slip quietly from the room, to give him some privacy.

“Hello, sweetheart.” he whispered, leaning over her. “You’re awake.” He gently touched her bandaged face, looking deep into her blue-gray eyes. She managed to, ever so slowly, move a hand from under the metal frame, her eyes never leaving his. He took it gently, only to have his own hand squeezed tightly--with a strength she hadn’t seemed to have.

“I know. We have a lot to catch up on.” he managed finally. Her eyes glistened as tears began to form. Gil ignored it and pressed on. “There’s so much I want to know; so much I’ve missed...”

She squeezed his hand again.

She knew.

As her tears rolled away from her eyes, Gil reached for a box of tissues and pulled one out. With extreme gentleness he dabbed the moisture from her face.

“I’ll take care of you.” he whispered. “You’re my little girl, and I promise I’ll take care of you from now on.”

She raised her hand a bit higher. Sensing what she wanted, Gil bent so she could touch his face. With a butterfly light caress she stroked his hair, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lower lip. As her hand started to fall away, he caught it gently and kissed it. Then he leaned over and faintly brushed her cheek with his mouth.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them with a look of sad contentment. Then she closed her eyes once more.

The hand he held relaxed. Went limp.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed. Slowed some more. The waveform grew smaller, the beats more distant.

And then,---she was gone.

Paulette and the ICU Resident who had been hovering outside now entered.

The Doctor noted the time. The Nurse made some notes, and turned off machines.

“Stay as long as you like, Mr. Grissom.” Paulette said gently. She followed the Resident out, shutting the door quietly behind her leaving Gil alone with his daughter--and his grief.

“And the poor pig” Sara was laughing “had bit him again! Tore a piece right out of his leg!” she shook her head and wiped her eyes.

Nick was chuckling. “Where is it now?”

“At a local vet’s, having its teeth molded for evidence.” Warrick answered.

“Crockett, the crime fighting pig!” Sara added with a laugh.

“Well, that certainly was different.” Nick replied with a grin.

“What’s different?” Catherine asked, coming into the break room.

“The 420 at the racetrack. Turned out a racehorse had a potbelly pig for a stable mate.”

“You’re kidding. A pot belly--one of those Vietnamese Pigs that were all the rage?” she asked, amazed. The others nodded, Sara pulled out a photo of the pig and handed it to her. “Uh, cute. In a piggy sort of way, I guess.” She handed it back. “Nick, you heard anything about the computers?”

He shook his head. “I was just on my way to check. You know they weren’t certain they could recover much after all the smoke and water damage.”

“Okay, let me know if you find out anything.

“Uh, Catherine?” Warrick looked up, his eyes full of concern. “How’s he doing?”

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “He’s carrying it off. Barely. But I’m afraid...”

“He’s gonna crash.” Sara finished. Unhappily, Catherine agreed.

A cell phone rang. All four automatically checked theirs. It was Catherine’s.

“Willows here.” she answered. She listened to what she was told nodding-her face going pale. “Right-thanks.” She carefully shut off her cell and put it away.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Sara asked softly. Catherine nodded.

“About an hour ago. He stayed with her for a while--they just noticed he had left, so they called the coroner’s office. I better find him”

“Try her Apartment.” Nick suggested. “He still has the key; he might go there.”

“Right.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

Gil made his way to Gillian’s apartment in a numbed haze. He went inside the building, up the stairway to the third floor automatically. He didn’t hear a neighbor call a friendly greeting. Once there he looked down at his hand, he still held his key ring. He opened the apartment door and went inside.

“Feed the fish. Feed the ants. Water the plants.” he recited as if it were a mantra He moved around the small studio room, tending to each task with the precise thoroughness of a zombie. In the tiny kitchen he filled Gillian’s watering can.

The phone rang.

He ignored it, going about his business.

The answering machine picked up.

“Hi, this is Gillian. I’m busy at the moment...”

Gil froze.

“but if you leave a message”

The watering can slipped from his hand to clatter on the floor. He strode over to the telephone and yanked it from the wall. He threw it across the room. The now silent answering machine followed with a crash.

It didn’t help.

He still hurt.

He turned to the wall, and unthinkingly slammed it with a fist.

He hit it again.

And again.

And again.

He punctured the drywall. Not noticing, he continued to beat on the vertical surface.

Cath pulled up with a squeal of her brakes. In the parking lot was Grissom’s black SUV, parked carelessly across two spaces. She heaved a small sigh of relief, and walked over to the vehicle. Her mouth opened in astonishment as she saw his door standing wide open. Swiftly, she shut it and entered Gillian’s building, running up the stairs. As she rounded the corner, she heard a terrible thudding and saw three women standing outside Gillian’s open apartment door, staring inside.

“He’s crazy!” One woman whispered, frightened. “Maybe we should call the Police?”

Cath came to the door and looked in. Gil was pounding on the wall, creating a sizable indention that was getting bigger with each slam of a fist.

“I’ll handle it.” she told them firmly, herding them away from the door.

“Are you sure?” Another woman asked, slightly less frightened. Cath nodded.

“His daughter died an hour ago.” she told them quietly.

The slamming stopped, his fist remaining in the hole for a moment. Then he collapsed against the wall, slowly sliding to his knees. One loud gasp became a sob, followed by another--until his entire body was racked with them.

Cath pulled the door closed.

“Yeah,” she reassured the ladies with a nod “I’m sure.”

Nick was upset. Unless the LVFD arson squad had something they weren’t sharing, they had next to squat. The prints on the gasoline can had no match in the system. They were unable to tell what ignited the blaze, though a lighter was suspected. No unusual prints anywhere--not even on the broken glass. Interviews with the staff had failed to point to anything conclusive. If they could find some clues that would point to a suspect--but so far, nada.

“Hey.” Nick turned, stopped in the hall, and waited for the voice to catch up to him.

“Hi Brass.”

“Anything on the computer?” Nick continued down the hall, Brass keeping pace.

“They managed to recover some files.....inventory, payroll- that sort of thing. But not much else. Prints on the computer are mostly Gill-I mean the deceased.”

“How’s he taking it?” Brass asked quietly.

“Don’t know. Catherine’s gone looking for him.” Nick sighed, and looked at Brass hopefully. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing really. Got the phone LUD’s from the clinic. Calls to other services, take out, clients. And an ISP.” Brass pulled a copy of the paperwork from his jacket pocket. “Apparently, she was online at the time of the fire.”

“What did you say?” Nick stopped walking abruptly, holding out a hand to make his companion stop also.

“She was online...” Brass repeated, looking confused.

“She made diary entries with a Web cam. And Grissom said she.....Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Grissom said she would make entries from work, and email them to herself.”

“Maybe, just maybe” Brass said, just noticing they had paused before Grissom’s office. “She was a chip off the old block.”

Nick pulled out his cell phone and called Catherine.

Catherine was leaning against the wall next to the apartment door, when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out and answered it.

“Willows here. What? Whoa Nick, slow down. What?” She came up off the door suddenly. “Pick up a blank CD and get here right away. No, he’s here. Right.”

She snapped her phone off, then turned and looked at the door.

It was time.

She rapped hard on the door. “Grissom? Gil, you in there?” Stupid question, she thought.

After a moment the door opened slightly.

He looked out at her his eyes red, face streaked with tears. Catherine took a deep breath and sighed.

“You know.” Gil stated flatly, opening the door to let her enter.

“They called after you left the hospital.” She surveyed the room. Except for a rather large hole in the wall, and the fact the telephone lay in several pieces on the floor, it looked like a normal apartment.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked, closing the door carefully behind her.

“Nick said you still have her key...” She reached out and took his battered hand, examining it gently. “Well, nothing seems to be broken. How bad does it hurt?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel anything.” he admitted blandly. She shook her head, and led him to the bathroom. Pulling a hand towel from the rod, she ran it under cold water until it was wet. Then she wrung it out and handed it to him.

“Why don’t you wash your face, and I’ll see if I can find some ice?” She disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments. When she came back it was with a plastic sandwich bag filled with ice and a glass of water. His eyes were still red, but his face had a bit more color.

“Come out here and sit.” she said, leading him to the futon. They sat; she handed him the glass. “Drink this.” She quietly despaired that he followed her commands sooo...

“You’ve gone into mother mode.” he said softly. Cath heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’d get you something, but you probably will want your migraine medicine when you go home.”

“Home?” he looked at her blankly. “This is home.”

“Your home, Gil.” she said, wrapping the bag around his hand. She glanced around the room full of bookcases. “Gillian had a lot of books. Must have got that from you.”

“Have you seen her picture?”

She shook her head. He got up, handing her the ice bag. He walked around the bookcase partition and came back with Gillian’s high school graduation photo. He handed it to her, and sat back down.

“She was beautiful, Gil.” she handed it back to him.

“I’ve been listening to her diary. I think she was almost ready to contact me personally.” He touched the photo tenderly. “She was afraid I would reject her. Do you know,” looking up at Catherine “I found out that--that if it wasn’t for some bureaucratic mix up with her paperwork in Paris, she would have come home--to me?”

“Gil, don’t do this to yourself. It’s nobody’s fault.” she put an arm around his shoulder. “Could haves, should haves, would haves. They’re just going you to eat you alive from the inside out.”

A silence fell between them that became almost unbearable.

“She thought Nick was ‘cute’.” he said suddenly and made a face.

“Gil,” Cath put in with a small grin, “every female over thirteen that sees Nick thinks he’s cute.”

He looked at her. “You don’t.”

“Actually,” she said, “I do. He’s just--not my type.”

“And you’re not a cradle robber.”

She chuckled. “Something like that.”

“She didn’t like Mobley.” Gil said abruptly, filling in the empty space. “She said she didn’t care who was running for against him for Sheriff, she would work on his campaign.”

Catherine nodded. “A woman of discriminating taste.”

He laughed.

Thank god, she thought.

Gil looked at her sideways. “I think you would have liked her.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

There was a knock on the door. Nick and Captain Brass came in. Nick was holding a CD jewel case.

“What’s going on...?” Grissom asked, looking from one to the other.

“Gil,” Brass asked, “did you ever access the internet from Gillian’s computer?”

Nick walked passed the other three, around to Gillian’s office where her computer sat.

“Uh, no. I only read the diary....What’s up?”

“We finally got the telephone LUD’s from the Clinic.” They heard the soft, familiar whine of a computer booting up.

Gil glanced at the two, then to the bookcases behind which Nick was working with the computer. “What’s going on...?” he asked uncertainly.

Another familiar whine, this of a modem connecting to its internet service provider.

“Gillian was on the Internet, just before...” Brass began. Grissom rose suddenly to his feet and moved swiftly around the bookcases to the computer.

Nick was seated in front of it; the screen displayed the homepage of a common Internet information site. Nick moved the curser down to the email notice board at the bottom of the page.

There were three messages.

The middle one--a large one--was titled “Dear Dad”.

He clicked on it. The security page came up.

“Comeoncomeoncomeon---Yesssss!” Nick pulled himself a victory salute, as the password reminder of her browser popped up. He clicked it in, then clicked enter.

The email page came up. Nick picked up the jewel case he had temporarily abandoned, opened it, and placed the CD into the Read/Rewrite drive of Gillian’s computer.

The drive closed.

He glanced up.

“Save it first.” Catherine said. “We can wait a little longer.”

Nick nodded, turning back to the computer and doing just that. It took several minutes for the message to burn into the empty CD. Then the computer beeped--its task was finished.

Nick looked back up at the others

Brass gave a slight nod.

Nick clicked Playback.

“Dear Dad,” Gillian began. “Here I am, cooking the books again. No, just kidding.” she sighed “It’s that time of the month again. I mean” here she blushed slightly, “time for monthly reports. Do you have those too....?”

Grissom watched as she chattered, almost making himself believe it was a live picture he was watching. Then suddenly, there was a distant sound of breaking glass. He watched in disbelief as she rose, and went to investigate. The picture fuzzed for a moment, snapping back with a view of the hallway.

“She rotated the camera.” Nick said, continuing to watch.

“There’s nothing here.” they heard her call. “No money on the premises.”

“For God’s sake Gillian, be quiet.” Grissom murmured softly. Cath put her hand on his arm. He shook it off.

“Where is she! Where are they!” a man roared. He came to the office where Gillian stood. “Where did you send them?” Without waiting for an answer, he punched the young woman in the face. Gillian reeled, lost her balance and fell to the floor. They could clearly see the man in his retail warehouse shirt, complete with first name, kicking at something--and hear Gillian’s muffled groans. And then, the groans stopped.

Stumbling, the man left the room. But only for a moment. He re-entered, carrying a five gallon gasoline can.

“Come on Gil,” Catherine took his arm firmly trying to drag him away. “You Don’t need to see this.“

“Yes, I do!” he hissed, elbowing her just hard enough so she would release him.

The man sloshed the gas around the office floor, then out the door. In the background they could hear him go down the hall. A muffled thump. And then, a whoosh. The fire rushed into the room, first consuming the gasoline and then the flimsy office wall partitions.

Above the crackling of the fire, there came a low moan.

“C’mon Grissom,” Nick said in a whispered drawl, “You can do it. Nail the Bastard’s sorry hide to the wall.”

The others looked at him oddly, and then it occurred to them. He was talking to Gillian.

The crackling grew louder; there was another moan. And suddenly, there she was, pulling herself up using the desk as support.

“That’s it.” Nick encouraged the now dead girl “There’s one more thing you’ve got to do.”

She pulled herself out of the picture toward the computer. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” she said, coughing. A burning partition fell toward the computer.

There was a high pitched feminine scream---that was suddenly cut off.

The room was silent for a long moment.

“That’s where the paramedics found her.” Nick murmured, finally getting his voice back. “Next to the desk, under a pile of burnt rubble.” He opened the read/rewrite drive, took out the CD and placed it in the jewel case. He pulled an evidence sticker out of his pocket, sealed the case shut with it, then signed and dated it. He handed it to Brass.

“There’s your murderer.”

Nick and Brass brought the CD back to the lab and checked it in as evidence. They ran the partial name thru the DMV using the first name of Thomas, hoping for a hit. Fortunately, Nevada was a sparsely populated state. They further narrowed the search to the Clark county area. Then, it was a matter of looking at the photos to find a match.

Brass hated this. But it had been decided that in contacting the night manager, the suspect might be alerted and flee. A couple long hard hours of waiting would pay off in the end.

The store opened at six. Brass was there at five, meeting the day shift manager as he arrived to open. That was when he got the call. They had a name, and an address.

Thomas Reynolds opened his front door, having no inkling what awaited him. Brass made the arrest, assisted by the police officers that met him at the residence.

When he arrived back at the station, Brass found another piece of news. It seemed officers had been out to the Reynolds’ home before, for disturbing the peace and domestic violence and abuse. Ironically, no arrest had been made. Reynolds’ wife had refused to press charges.

Nick had gone thru what was left of the clinic’s computer files. Luck was with him for he found Alicia Reynolds file. Her husband had threatened their children, and that was the last straw for her. She came to the free clinic, seeking help and guidance. They had sent her and her two small children out to a woman’s shelter in Winchester. When placing a call to the facility, Brass found they were still in residence.

Reynolds’ lawyered up right away, refusing to answer any questions. But, that was okay with Brass. The man’s co-workers were more that willing to tell of how, when he had heard his wife had left him, he had left work without clocking out. They found a nearby bartender who served him vodka shooters until it was apparent he was intoxicated--and cut him off. The trail led to a liquor store, where a clerk sold him a bottle of vodka. Both were able to pick Reynolds out of a lineup. With a warrant for the house, Nick was able to recover the clothes worn at the scene of the arson/homicide. Fingerprints matched those found on the gas can at the scene.

Catherine stayed with Grissom. Someone need to be certain he would get home, and since he was family of the now deceased Gillian Grissom, her presence was a legitimate one. She drove him home in her car, after locking the Tahoe. Once there she found his migraine pills and forced one down him to ward of the possible terrible headache he could get. They would also help him sleep. She got him on his bed, and his shoes off, him weakly protesting the entire time. Then she made him lay down, and covered him with his comforter.

“Get some rest.” she told him, taking his keys. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

But he didn’t hear her. An exhausted sleep had already claimed him.

Catherine didn’t make it back that afternoon. When Gil head the key rattling in his lock, he wandered into his front room, to find Sara quietly closing the door.

“Hey.” she said, giving him a small smile. “You want some coffee?” She held out a holder with a Starbuck’s cup in it.

He took it gratefully. He’d showered, she noticed, for tiny droplets of water clung to his still damp hair. In fact, except for his bare feet, he was fully dressed.

“I have the day off, so I thought....” her voice trailed off. She looked at him, cocking her head slightly, “Is...is that okay?”

He managed a tired half-smile. “I appreciate it Sara. Thanks.”

He took his cup with him into his room, returning a few minutes later fully dressed. Then they went to Gillian’s apartment, carrying in the boxes Sara had brought with her.

“Did she keep everything she ever read?” Sara asked, amazed as she walked in and surveyed the bookcases.

“There’s more in her bedroom.” Gil offered. Sara turned and looked him, shaking her head in amazement.

“A bookworm.” Then her attention was drawn to the large indentation in the wall. Fortunately, Catherine had warned her about it, so she was prepared for the physical evidence of Grissom’s anger and despair. She touched it lightly, then turned back to him. “Think that’s beyond toothpaste Grissom.” She came back to his side, and looked at him expectantly.

“Where do you want me to start?”

He looked around the room. His eyes lighted on the bedroom door.

“Her clothes need to be sorted, I guess.”

She gave him a small, brisk nod. “I’m on it.”

An hour later, she returned to the living room to find only two boxes of books packed. Grissom, his nose deep in a slightly tawdry paperback romance, had obviously studied each and every book carefully before placing it in the box.

“Let me guess. He gets the girl in the end?” she joked lightly.

He glanced up, slightly embarrassed. “Actually, he’s getting the girl right now.” he replied.

Sara gave him a mischievous grin. “Ooooooo, wicked!” she laughed.

There was a knock on the door.

“Hey, Gris! It’s us!” Nick called. “Let us in!”

Sara went to the door and opened it.

“The muscle has arrived!” Warrick exclaimed softly.

“Idiots.” she chuckled, ushering them inside.

The two newcomers looked at Grissom, perched on the arm a green futon, still holding the romance. He rose and carefully closing the book, he placed it in the box.

“Why don’t you guys handle the bed?” Sara said, shooing them in that direction. They looked at her, gave her a half scowl for being bossy, half relief for being told what to do. “I’ll start on the kitchen.”

With the others there, Grissom seemed to pick up his pace. Maybe he decided to look them over at home. Whatever it was, the apartment began to appear larger as items were packed. Filled boxes were stacked three high.

“What goes where, Grissom?” Warrick asked gently.

He paused from placing Gillian’s college chemistry books into a box.

“Hmm? Oh, the women’s shelter gets everything. Everything” glancing down at the boxes around his feet filled with them “except her books. I’m taking those. And the ant farm.” he added as an afterthought.

Nick clapped his hands together. “Okay then, let’s start loading.” He picked up two full boxes of books and headed for the door. “Keys?” he called. Sara tossed them to Warrick.

“Back in a bit.” Warrick grabbed up several boxes and followed.

Gil went back to packing books until he felt Sara’s gaze upon him. He turned and looked at her.

“It’s hard,” stating the obvious “isn’t it?”

His silence was long. So long she thought he was going to ignore her question.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” he answered softly. He took a deep shuddering breath.

The solemn mood was broken by the return of the two men.

“I swear,” Sara laughed at them, “you two! Sometimes, you’re like a pair of scuffling puppies!”

“Bow wow.” Nick chuckled, picking up two more boxes.

“Woof.” added Warrick with a grin, following.

Sara shook her head. “Puppies!” she called after them.

“Well, there’s one good thing.” Grissom said, observing the playful on goings of his young staff, “At least they’re housebroken.”

Sara stared. For almost five seconds, she simply stared at him. Then she blustered out a laugh, that made him smile. In a moment, they were both laughing.

“Imagine taking them for a wal---no. I don’t even WANT to go there.” she sputtered, and sent them off again.

“What’s so funny?”

They looked toward the door, both wiping tears from laughter from their yes. Catherine stood there, holding a box with deli sacks in it. Grissom managed to calm himself first.

“We were comparing Nick and Warrick to puppies.” he managed.

“Oh.” she nodded knowingly. “Not a long stretch there sometimes. I brought dinner.” she announced.

“I’ll go tell them,” Sara said “its feeding time.” She was chuckling again as she left the room.

Catherine set her box on the open kitchen counter. Reaching inside, she removed a can of soda, opened it, and handed it to Grissom.

“So, what arrangements have you made?” she asked gently.

“Everything but the books is going to the Women’s Center. And the ant farm.” he added. He took a sip of his drink. “You think Lindsey’s class would like an aquarium?”

“That’s not what I mean, Gil.” she stated firmly. It took a few moments, but he finally met her even look.

He sighed deeply. “I know.”

“Would, would you like me to deal with it?”

His expression became almost painfully hopeful. “Would you?”

The thumping and good natured banter alerted them the others were returning. They tumbled rather than walked back into the apartment.

Catherine pointed to the box. “Sacks are marked. Give me a diet soda, Warrick.”

Silence fell as the four CSI’s quietly munched the sandwiches Catherine had brought.

“Well, I have another errand I need to do.” giving Gil a meaningful look as she finished her drink. He gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll see you two later.” she said to the guys as she walked past.

“Catherine, just a minute.” Sara said, rising and slipping into the bedroom. She returned with a small suitcase, and gave it to her.

“Even if it is closed casket.” she whispered softly so the men couldn’t hear “she should have something pretty to wear.”

Catherine smiled sadly taking the case. “I’ll see you tomorrow Sara.”

After they finished eating, they settled solemnly back to work. Finally, both Tahoes and Sara’s car were full. The two younger men each climbed into a SUV, Grissom opting to ride with her. When they arrived, they immediately set to work emptying first the car that was Nick and Warrick’s transportation, and then Sara’s smaller personal vehicle.

“The rest can wait.” Grissom said dismissing them. “I can do it in the morning.”

Nick and Warrick departed. That left only Sara.

“I should probably be going too.” she said, standing unmoving by the door. She regard him carefully. “Are you going to be alright?”

He was certain he would never be ‘alright’ again, but he tried not to let her know.

“Yes, Sara,” he said softly. “You’ve done enough for one day. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled hesitantly. “You Need anything, call one of us. Okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” he repeated.

She spared him one last glance, then slipped out the front door.

It was late the next afternoon, when Catherine pulled up outside Grissom’s townhouse. Doing some online research during the night had helped cut down on the time spent with the local mortuaries and cemeteries. She had with her the paperwork for the arrangements and photos of the site. All that was needed to complete the transaction was his signature, and a check. All would be ready for Gillian, when she was finally released for burial.

He was in different clothes from the day before, so he had at least changed, if not slept. Books were piled everywhere, in boxes and stacked. A half empty pizza box sat on his table, testimony that someone had been by today-for she doubted he would have thought of it on his own.

“I brought some Chinese take out. I’ll just...”

“Better leave it on the table. Or else I might forget it.” he said. “Is that...?” looking a the large creamy envelope she carried.

She gave it to him as she passed, placing the sack she carried on the table.

He opened the envelope, glanced over the contents and nodded.

“This looks fine, Catherine.” He separated the itemized list and the contract from the rest of the paperwork as he wandered to his desk. As she came to join him, he was carefully tearing out a signed check. He slipped them back into the envelope, and offered it to her.

She took it and looked at him hesitantly, as if attempting to decide something.

“What is it, Catherine?” he asked gently.

“I, uhm, I...”

“Go ahead.”

“I checked thru your office mail last night. To see if there was anything Important?” she said in a rush. “I found....this.”

It was a pale blue card envelope, addressed to him in neat feminine script, in care of the office.

Carefully, he took it from her. He delicately pealed the flap away from the back, and removed the card. It was a birthday invitation. Catherine watched him as he read it. Watched him attempt to hold back the tears that came without warning, and watched him fail. She scanned his desk for tissues. Finding none, she went into the kitchen and returned with a paper towel. She gave it to him silently.

“She invited me to lunch.” he said, blowing his nose and reclaiming control of his emotions. “Next week, at the Parisian. I’m not certain, but I think it’s her mother’s-Pat’s birthday.”

She had been afraid it was something like that. The young woman had finally gotten enough courage to arrange a meeting with her father. A meeting that would never be kept.

She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “You going to be okay?”

He stood, nodding. “I need to be getting back to....to the apartment. There’s still some things....”

His words were cut off by Nick’s opportune arrival.

“Hey. It’s my night off, and I thought I could help you move the rest of Gillian’s things.” He grinned a Catherine. “I brought a hand truck this time.” He looked at Grissom. Sensing his boss’s emotional state, his grin became uncertain. “Or I can....”

“No Nick, that’s sounds fine.”

“I need to go.” Catherine said, gesturing to the door with the envelope.

“Thanks again., Catherine.”

She gave him and affectionate smile. “No problem.” She slowed as she passed Nick.

“Take care of him.” she murmured softly.

He gave her the barest of nods.

“Oh, Yeah.” he whispered back.

With that, she left, knowing Gil was in good hands.

Now, it was time to take care of Gillian.

It was a bright, sunny morning. The day’s heat was already building, as he pulled his car to the curb. Thru the tinted glass of the passenger’s side window he could see the gathering at the gravesite below. It appeared the entire night shift (for here it seemed inappropriate to think ‘Graveyard shift’) had come to stand with their supervisor as he laid his daughter to rest. There were also a number unknown of women present, which seemed likely to be friends of the dead girl.

Brian Mobley stepped out of his Buick, and walked to the curb. He contemplated joining the entourage, but decided against it. He wasn’t campaigning here, and he was certain Grissom probably wouldn’t appreciate what he would consider an intrusion. So, the Sheriff stepped up onto the grass, and stood solemnly.

The service finally broke up. Gil stood uncomfortably, as Gillian’s friends from work filed passed him, expressing their sorrow and empathy for his grief. As they did, his fellow Investigators slowly clustered around him protectively, silently lending moral support. Captain Brass and Detective O’Riley made their way back to the drive, pausing only when they noticed the Sheriff. The three exchanged a long, silent look, and small nods of acknowledgement. Then the policemen continued to their vehicle.

Greg helped Dr. Robbins negotiate his way across the rough uneven grass, up to the drive and to the waiting cars. Then Sara, followed by Nick. Warrick began his way, pausing halfway up to wait for Catherine.

She stood, slightly apart from Grissom, watching him carefully. Touched his arm gently.

He glanced up from gazing longingly at the casket, startled to find her by his side.

“Come on Gil.“ she said softly.

He looked at her. His gaze lifted up, to Catch Warrick’s concerned expression. Farther up, Nick and Sara had paused and were looking down the slight incline to him expectantly. All silently telling him it was time to go.

His gaze lifted farther. He saw Brian, standing alone--quiet and solemn. Their eyes met briefly. Then the Sheriff turned, and returned to his car.

“In a minute, Cath.” Grissom said softly, with a slight smile of thanks. “Give me a minute.”

She nodded with parental understanding, and moved slowly up the hill to Warrick. Then they proceeded to join the rest of the team.

They stood together, waiting patiently for their supervisor-their friend.

Gil reached out and brushed the casket lightly with his fingers.

“Your card came in the mail, Gillian.” he whispered. “Your invitation for lunch.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I would have come, sweetheart.” he sniffed. “I just wanted you to know that. I would have been there.”

There he stood, looking at the casket that held her remains. His daughter, found-and lost in a blink of an eye. A family ripped from him in a space of a day.

“Goodbye Gillian.” he managed at last.

Then, finally, he turned and slowly walked up the hill--to where his team gathered around him like family.

The two Chevy Tahoes pulled away from the gravesite, their dark blue paint glistening in the bright Nevada sunlight.