"I told you- I wasn't anywhere near that room." The young man they'd begun to interview was dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope dangling from his neck, his fingers nervously toying with the end. A pressed gold nametag pinned to the teal scrub top introduced him as 'Gregory Anderson, R.N'. "I heard the commotion- thought I'd be caught smoking."

"Oh, and why not just flush the butt down the toilet, slick?" Nick's elbows rested on the smooth, rubber armrests of one of the many waiting room chairs, as he leaned forward to scrutinize the young man. "We found your cell phone on the roof of the parking garage below the fire escape. Don't suppose you were trying to call for an exit, Mr. Anderson?"

"I told you...I didn't have anything to do with that woman overdosing..." Mr. Anderson replied defensively. "I bumped into the nurse as she was leaving the room...figured she was just another one of the night nurses who didn't want to miss the end of Guiding Light on account of her rounds."

"I see. And did you happen to get a good look at this nurse?" Grissom felt suddenly as he knew Brass did, the interrogator looking down at the single suspect they'd finally managed to land. It was frustrating, knowing this man was all they had to go on.

"A little- she had a mask on."

"Is that typical?"

"Depends on the patient, I guess."

"Why?"

"Would you walk into the room of an infectious patient without a mask on?" Mr. Anderson replied harshly. "Some people like to be extra careful-we see a lot of patients here...with VRE, MRSA, that sort of thing... some just don't want to catch what their patient has, y'know?"

"But Ms. Willows wasn't contagious...so I guess a mask would be a little atypical, wouldn't it, Mr. Anderson?"

"Yeah...I guess so. Come to think of it, I did find that a little weird. And you know...she wasn't even wearing a nametag. I wanted to yell at her for running in the halls like that- we're all told not to run when the floors are freshly waxed-"

"Wait a second." Nick spoke up, leaning forward as his eyes began to sparkle with the eagerness of Christmas morning. "The floors were just waxed? But they look-"

"Yeah, it's not a big industrial wax. We don't have time for that, but with the ceiling vents on the floor it gets dry really quick. The night maintenance crew just did it around midnight, when none of the patients are getting meds."

"And I bet our killer didn't know that." Grissom nodded, glancing down at the shoes worn by the young nurse. "Would you be willing to let us print your shoe treads?"

"Sure. Everyone wears shoes like this, though...it's required."

"We'll worry about that later, Mr. Anderson," Nick replied fishing trough his field kit for an ink pad and a roller. "Right foot up please."

The male nurse complied, leaning back and propping his foot against the table. Swiftly and efficiently Nick rolled the ink onto Mr. Anderson's shoe. "Brass can I borrow a sheet of that paper?" Nick pointed towards the pad that he was holding.

"Knock yourself out, Nick." Brass ripped off a sheet and handed it to the young CSI.

"Now Mr. Anderson, all I need you to do is step down on this piece of paper." Nick set the paper on the hard linoleum floor and waited.

"Just one foot?"

"Yes, please." The footprint was made, and Nick leaned back to eye the faint print with a critical eye. "Brass, can you get us a warrant?"

"For shoes?"

"Every pair of shoes in this hospital." Grissom shook his head at Nick's bemused and ultimately chagrined expression. "We'll pick up what prints we can from the floor in and around Catherine's room...and see if we can match any. It's a long shot- but if our killer wore a different set of shoes than the nursing staff, we'll have something else to go on."

"But if not, then we're shit outta luck." Nick put Mr. Andersons shoe print in a large manila envelope and placed it safely into his kit.

"Well then let's hope someone in this hospital isn't wearing the right shoes."

"What are those odds?"

"Nicky my boy, we don't work by odds- we work by evidence." Grissom left the room as Nick and Brass completed the interrogation. He'd abandoned his kit beside the nurse's station, and withdrew a stack of yellow markers, placing them accordingly to section off a length of tile several feet from Catherine's door.

"Hey, Gris?" Sara's head appeared around the doorway, brown hair swinging pendulum style as she stared at her supervisor, kneeling on the floor. "I've got pictures...what are you doing?"

"Don't move any further."

"Ahh...I see. Shoeprints." Sara grinned and kneeled down. "Need any help with that?"

Gil looked up from his work to answer but saw something moving behind her out of the corner of his eye. He saw Catherine's eyes snap open, the look in them foggy and disoriented. "Could you take this over for me?" he asked moving into the room careful to step around that are he had just blocked off.

"Sure."

She didn't catch what he did, didn't turn her head as she began to slip away from the room and reached for her own kit, withdrawing that which would help her with gathering the many prints scattered over the freshly waxed tile. Grissom stepped into the quiet room, pushing the door closed behind him and sticking to the wall until able to slip into a chair at Catherine's right side.

"Cath?"

"Deja vu," She murmured weakly, turning her head to look him in the eye, a smile spreading over dry, cracked lips. "You're always here when I wake up."

"Do you know where you are?"

"I'm not that far gone, Gil." Catherine's disorientation had begun to dissipate upon sight of him beside her, and she coughed; the sound weaker than times before. "But I feel like I've been hit by a cannonball."

"They had to pump your stomach."

"Mmm..." was all she said in reply, eyes closing slowly.

"You scared the hell out of us. I think even Ecklie was a little worried."

That triggered a laugh, an act which caused Catherine to sit up, bending over her wounded stomach with a grimace. "Take it easy, Cath..."

"Then stop making me laugh." She retorted. "Ecklie worried. Let me guess- afraid that if I died, even if I am a former CSI, it'd draw more media attention than he could handle. Wouldn't make him look very good in Brian's eyes, would it?"

"Brian has too much wool pulled over his eyes to see anyone the way they are, Catherine. But we're back on the case now."

"You got it back?" She gestured for a glass of water and Grissom slipped it into her hand, eyes following her as she drained the clear liquid. As her own glazed azure eyes met his, the glass moved away from her mouth, and she arched an eyebrow. "You didn't, did you? Gil- we've talked about being more politic, and taking Ecklie's case away from him isn't the way to accomplish anything. You're digging a hole- and I'm not going to let you."

"Catherine, it's already done. You really should stop taking these long naps; you tend to miss things."

"Making fun of the invalid," Catherine replied with mock hurt, "Gil Grissom, my knight in shining armor."

"I do my best," he replied.

Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "Sure you do...hmm...no restraints, you back to trusting me?"

"They've been off for awhile, Catherine. You're getting slow on me."

"And you're getting soft on me." She teased, reaching to poke the front of his vest, finger meeting little resistance. "What did I tell you about getting your face up out of that microscope? The thing I'm missing the most is my chance to get you into the world, Gil."

"You'll have plenty of time for that when you're out of here." He felt wrong, knowing she wasn't part of his team anymore, knowing that she would have all the time in the world when she was released back into it. "You'll be back at work as soon as we can work it out."

"No. Just concentrate on finishing the case, Gil- don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment."

"Are you quoting me?"

"Why not? It may not be Shakespeare but it's a wise saying, nonetheless."

"I'm honored."

"You should be." Catherine's voice cracked and her hand unconsciously moved to rub her neck. "Can you get me another glass of water? My throat kills."

"Sure."

The bathroom he stepped into was small, much too small for more than one man; a white porcelain toilet and pedestal sink sharing the space of the back wall. The floors were dull; no evidence of wax present, and Grissom chose to ignore the cramped space as he began to run water into the tall glass in his hand. It was on his way out that he noticed what was amiss.

Ecklie's crew had been present after the waxing of the hallway floor, which he knew would make it easier to eliminate their footprints from the suspect list. The floor was dull beneath his feet, and yet a patch glistened to stand out from the rest, catching his interest quickly.

"What did you find?" Handing over the glass of water, Grissom exited the room, returning quickly with his field kit.

"A print, maybe. Our theory is that the killer may not have been wearing the standard shoes utilized by the nursing staff- and was present as the fresh wax was beginning to dry on the hallway floor. There's a waxy print in your bathroom, and it might just be what we need."

"You know what Warrick always says, it all comes down to shoeprints."

"And here I thought I was the only great CSI, you'd quote."

"Jealous?"

"Never."

"Thanks for this," she raised her glass in appreciation. Catherine took a sip of her water, closing her eyes as it slid down her throat. It was cool and soothing as it went down, and Catherine resisted the urge to down it all at once.

"You're welcome...now stop talking so much, you're going to make your throat hurt worse...and you're going to distract me from lifting this print."

"You want something to distract you- I'll enlist you to help me to the bathroom when you're finished." The sly twinkle appeared in Catherine's eyes as she shifted teasingly beneath the thin covers. "I'm not wearing anything beneath the hospital gown."

"You mean to say that I left my leopard-print underwear in your hamper for no reason?" Grissom knelt before the bathroom threshold, smile hidden from Catherine's view. "Catherine, I would have imagined you'd remember underwear in such a public location."

"Well maybe you should have remembered to check and make sure I had some on when you brought me. Then I wouldn't be in this predicament, now would I? I mean, I was unconscious at the time. It's not like I was just going to wake up and suddenly remember my thong."

"Touché," Grissom choked out, trying not to blush.

"You know, I don't think I remembered to do laundry before I left...so the chances of my having any clean to begin with were-" She paused, and as Grissom peeled the print he had made away from the floor tiles, he leaned back to peer up at her bed.

"What's wrong?

"You sent someone over there... To check the place for..." It was her turn to blush, the pale pink tint causing her face to appear it's normal shade. "And I didn't close the hamper."

"Well, then- Sara and Nick have every reason to think you have a secret life that we know nothing about." Matter-of-factly, Grissom slipped the print into an envelope, and rose from his squatting position. "It might come out in court, Catherine. Are you ready for that?"

"Are you ready for your underwear to be labeled 'Defense exhibit A'?" She retorted.

"No comment."

"That's what I thought."

She shifted beneath the blankets and turned onto her right side, eyeing him as he rose from his position on the floor. "Speaking of the bathroom, sweetheart- are you up to it?"

"I may have lost my ability to exercise cognitive thought when I'm with you, but I believe I still have the ability to relieve myself."

"I mean to help me. Are you up to it, or not?" She teased, brushing a hand against his trousers as he moved closer to the bed. "I don't imagine you're wearing your crotchless underwear today, are you?"

"You're insatiable. Come on." It was hardly a process to remove her from the bed, and Grissom suspected with silent amusement that she'd only coerced him into helping in order to steal another moment alone with him before the case took off and they were never alone again.

"Thank you, good sir," she grinned cheekily as he disappeared out the door, and closed it behind him. "Are you sure you're in the right career Grissom?" she called from inside the bathroom. "You're so good at helping the disabled!"

"Only you Catherine, only you," he replied, leaning back against the wall to wait for her. "I don't think my people skills are evolved enough to help anyone else."

"Fine by me, I get you all to myself."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He busied himself neatening up the bedclothes, hands smoothing pillows and straightening blankets with the ease of a man who knew exactly why he was doing what he was doing. Making her comfortable was only one thing he could do to make her happy- but he was all for it. "Hey, Catherine?

"Yes?"

"Did you have any pictures in your pockets when you got here?"

"Pictures? No, Gil- I keep everything I have in a photo album at home. Why?" He didn't answer, reaching into his pocket for a glove and gingerly pulling out a photograph that had fallen between the bed rail and the mattress. Sheltered by blankets, he assumed that no one had taken notice before, and as he turned it over, he realized it couldn't have been Catherine's at all. The solemn, sad eyes that stared up at him from the photograph were of a young girl, barely six, curls of chocolate brown framing a chubby-cheeked face.

Catherine appeared in the doorway of the bathroom and walked slowly over to him. "What did you find?"

"A clue, my dear Watson, a clue." He held up the small picture and showed it to her before whispering, "I knew you didn't need any help."

"A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do." She took the small photograph from and sat on the bed, studying it. There was something about it that seemed oddly familiar to her, but she couldn't place her finger on it. "It's like a bad case of déjà vu."

"That's the second time you've said that since I've been in here...do you know her? That girl?"

"I think I do. I know I do- but it's placing the name with the face that's going to be a problem." She crossed the room and helped herself to another glass of water, sipping languidly from the plastic cup before pivoting on her heels to come back to him. "I don't know, Gil- I really don't know."

"Don't try too hard. I'd hate to see you back in that bed again and really needing help." Grissom recoiled as Catherine's hand struck out to punch him playfully on the arm; her lithe body crawling back into the now adequately neatened hospital bed. "If you're good, I'll tuck you in."

"If I was bad, I'd still expect something." She winked, and he gingerly placed the picture in his kit, snapping the lid shut on the contents.

"And you'd get it too."

"Good to know."

Grissom pulled the thin hospital blanket over her as she leaned back into the pillow to get more comfortable. He watched as Catherine moved her hand up to her mouth to stifle a yawn. "You need to rest."

"You're keeping me awake. Go solve crime...let me sleep."

"You didn't say that last night," He teased, stepping backward through the open doorway. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night." Her yawn punctuated the sentence, and as he turned, he could hear her gentle breathing.