Crime scene investigator Sara Sidle had always considered herself someone to be reckoned with. The tough, thin, five-foot-eight brunette had witnessed decomposed bodies, the dark souls of serial killers, and live gunfire with little reaction. She had only one weakness -- Gil Grissom. Now, dressed in her usual dark pants, dark jacket and police special, she ran down the corridor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab and charged hysterically into the office of swing shift supervisor Catherine Willows. Catherine nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Gil!" Sara cried. "Gil...." She was struggling to catch her breath and speak at the same time.

Suddenly pale, the redhead came out from behind her desk and grabbed the younger woman by the shoulders.

"Sara! Talk to me! What happened to Gil?"

Panic surged through Catherine's gut, as she watched Sara collapse into a chair. Before Sara could answer, CSI Nick Stokes, his Texas football player frame filling her doorway, spoke first.

"Grissom's been arrested," he said, his own face ashen. "It's all over the television. He's been charged with killing a cop."

"No!" Catherine gasped, still clinging to Sara, who was now doubled over and sobbing.

"I'll take care of her," Nick offered. "Brass is looking for us. He wants a powwow in the conference room, now."

Nick carefully helped Sara to her feet and half-carried her down the hall to the meeting, as Catherine ran ahead, her high-heels clicking on the tile floor. She found the team waiting for her. CSI Warrick Brown was slunk in a chair, staring at a cup of coffee as if it was going to bite him. Jacqui Franco, the fingerprint expert, sat at the table, her head buried in her hands. The newest CSI team member, Greg Sanders, paced the room, agitated, looking for a way to release his frustration. Doc Robbins, pathologist, came in behind Catherine and sat down heavily, his eyes meeting hers, reading hers, and understanding. Nick and Sara, holding each other up, were followed by Dave Hodges of trace, Dave Phillips of pathology, Archie Johnson of video and audio, and Bobby Dawson of ballistics. Finally, the new girl, Sophia Curtis, just transferred off the dayshift. No one spoke, until homicide detective Captain Jim Brass, looking as if he'd aged fifty years overnight, walked through the door. Then everyone tried talking at once.

"Enough!" Brass yelled, raising his hand to quiet the group. "You want to know what's going on? Be quiet!"

Silence descended. Brass cleared his throat and began.

"About twenty minutes ago, Gil was arrested for the murder of police officer Carol MacEnroe." When commotion threatened to break out, again, Brass silenced them. "He was seized at his home and taken to the Clark County Detention Center, where he's been processed and is being interrogated. His place is being searched as we speak."

"By who?" Catherine asked.

"Atwater."

"I mean, who processed him? Who is searching his home? This is my shift...."

"This is Eckley's case," Brass told her.

A groan made its way around the room.

"Let me ask you guys a question," said Brass, crossing his arms in front of him and staring at the team that had once been under his supervision. "How many times as Gil covered your backs? Huh? Warrick?" Warrick didn't look up. "Nick?" The Texan dropped his eyes down to his shoes. "Sara?" She buried her face in Nick's shirt and didn't answer. Brass' gaze landed on Catherine. He didn't have to say her name.

"Always," she answered, remembering when she'd asked Gil that same question.

(Are you covering my back? she had asked. Always, he'd told her.)

"Is there anyone in here who would NOT lie, cheat or steal to get him back?" Brass asked.

Sophia, looking nervously around the room, started to raise her hand and thought better of it.

"It's alright," Brass said, acknowledging her situation. "You don't know Gil, like we do. We know he couldn't have done this."

"So, let's prove it," Greg said.

"We can't," Brass told them. "We can't touch this case. And you all know why."

"Conflict of interest," Robbins muttered, rubbing his gray beard. A moment of quiet, followed.

"No. No, this can't be right." Sara finally spoke up. "We can't just stand there and let them railroad Gil into jail!"

"Nobody will be doing any railroading," Brass assured her. "This is a high profile case. The media are watching this thing like a hawk. And Gil has a lot of friends, in and out of law enforcement."

"And a lot enemies," Jacqui said, looking up for the first time. "Who are we kidding, here? We all know how Eckley feels about him! And Atwater, too. How hard to you think they are going to try and clear him?"

"They're not in the business of trying to clear him," Brass said. "They're in the business of collecting evidence. Period."

"Where did she die?" Sara asked.

"In her apartment, around 5 p.m. this evening," Robbins said. "Dave went to the scene, and I got her body shortly after that. We didn't find out until later that they were looking at Gil as a suspect."

Everyone's attention turned to the pathologist.

"Carol was.... She had been...." he was struggling for the words. Wiping his eyes, Robbins continued. "She was found...."

Dave Phillips rescued him.

"MacEnroe was found handcuffed to her bed, with her own cuffs. She was naked and appeared to have been strangled with an extension cord taken from her room. Her body was mutilated. There were burn marks on her breasts and.... other parts of her body."

Sara shuddered, jumped up, covered her mouth and ran to the nearest bathroom. Phillips continued.

"There was evidence of post-mortem sexual intercourse."

"How does any of this relate to Gil?" Catherine asked, looking to Brass.

Brass looked to Robbins for the answers.

"Gil and Carol used to date, about seven or eight years ago," Robbins explained. "It was one of those hot, short affairs, and I don't think she took the break up well. But Gil wasn't ready for anything more, not then. Hell, probably not even now. She called him constantly for about three weeks, and then we didn't hear from her, again. Last I knew, she was working in L.A."

Brass picked up the story.

"She moved back to Vegas about a week ago and was recruited by the LVPD. Last night, she was assigned to work the Greenwood case...."

"The four teens who died of drug overdoses in Henderson," Greg explained.

"Grissom's case," Catherine added.

Brass nodded.

"According to what I've been able to gather, she was happy to see him. She gave him a hug. They talked. Then he was seen driving her home. That was the last time anyone saw her, alive."

"Now, what?" Warrick asked.

"Well, for now, I'm in charge of the nightshift," Brass said. "And we have work to do. Crime waits for no man, including Gil Grissom." He began handing out assignments.

"We're already down one man, with Gil out," he continued. Then he glanced back at the bathroom. "Make that two. Nick, see to it Sara gets home, then you take Greg and finish Grissom's case. Warrick, you're on your own, an apparent suicide on Fremont Street. Catherine, you're with me. Let's get to work."

When everyone was gone, Catherine Willows turned to Brass.

"And what are we going to do?" she asked.

"Save Gil's ass."

-- TBC --