"Hey, man!" the twenty-something Eminem wannabe yelled at the guard from the courthouse holding cell. "You put me in here with the Bug Man! I don't want to be with the Bug Man! Creep me out!"

"Shut up, Miller," the guard ordered.

"If it makes you feel any better," Grissom said, calmly and with a completely deadpan face, "being in here with you creeps me out, too."

Grissom, wearing his prison issue jumpsuit, sat on one of the two metal chairs in the windowless cell. A large leather belt was cinched around his waist, and from the belt ran a chain to his ankles that attached to shackles with just enough play to let him shuffle through a room. His hands were cuffed, and their chain was just long enough to allow him to unzip his pants, should the need arise, but nothing more. He couldn't even scratch his nose, which was something he wanted to do very badly.

Miller looked back at Grissom, sizing him up and keeping his distance. "You are the Bug Man, right? I saw your mug on TV. Hey, those guys said you eat bugs! Yuck! You really eat bugs, man?"

"Yes."

The young man's jaw dropped.

"No shit! Real bugs? Like on Fear Factor? I mean, are they alive, or something? Hey, you could come to my crib and clean out all the damn cockroaches!"

Grissom frowned.

"I don't eat cockroaches," he said. "I prefer ants and grasshoppers, dipped in chocolate."

"No shit!"

"Yes, shit," Grissom responded, sounding exhausted and not the least bit humored. He'd been fighting a headache all morning, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Man! That's gruesome! Hey, ain't that your name? Gruesome?"

"No, Grissom." Eyes still closed. No smile.

"Gruesome Grissom, the Bug Man. Is that why they call you the Bug Man?"

"No. They call me the Bug Man because I like insects." Gil found himself struggling to exercise patience.

"No shit! Why?"

Grissom opened his eyes and looked at the man, as if studying a new specimen under the microscope.

"Because insects have integrity. They are what they are. No hidden agendas."

Miller, relaxing a little, sat down in the only empty chair.

"Did you do what they said, Bug Man? Did you kill that woman?"

Grissom studied his new friend a few seconds longer. He'd been worried about surviving on the inside, but fear could be a good deterrent, if played carefully.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Again, the young man tensed up and was silent a few seconds before speaking.

"I think your screwed, man," he said, the humor gone from his voice.

"Yeah, well I hear that's what started it all."

The guard unlocked the door.

"Let's go, Miller," he said, pulling the young man out. "Grissom, your lawyer is here."

"What lawyer?" Grissom asked, but he didn't get an answer.

Less than a minute later, Jim Brass entered with Charles Warner Smith, a tall and strikingly handsome black man, who also happened to be one of the best defense attorneys in the state of Nevada.

"You hired a top gun? Shit! I am screwed!" Grissom exclaimed, sinking even deeper into the darkness.

"In more ways than one, my friend," Jim responded, with a sigh. "Need anything?"

"Yes. My glasses. And the crossword puzzles."

"I don't mean to break up this reunion, guys, but I need to talk to my client before arraignment," Smith interrupted.

"Sure," said Brass. "Don't mind me."

"Alone," the attorney said, showing Brass the door.

Smith took the chair opposite Gil and set his briefcase on the floor.

"I can't afford you, you know," Grissom said. His dark blue eyes seemed almost black.

"I know." The attorney didn't seem to care. "And if I'm going to do this, I'm going to need some things from you."

"What?"

"The truth, to begin with. The complete and unvarnished truth. There's nothing more damning to a defense attorney's case than to be taken by surprise during a trial. I need to know everything you know. You can't hold back any secrets from me. In this relationship, I'm the one in charge. You can tell me what you think, you can give me information, you can tell me to go to hell, but I call the shots. In that courtroom, I'm the expert."

"Can you spell bail?" Grissom asked, sarcastically, closing his eyes, again.

"Starting off on a bad foot, already, aren't you?" Smith was critical.

"How's that?" Gil opened his eyes.

"Your attitude. A man with your background and education should know better. Make no mistake, this case will be tried in the press, and the press will fry you for comments like that." Gil didn't respond. "You just had another detainee in here asking you questions about your case. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing."

"And what did you just tell that homicide cop?"

"You heard what I told him."

"And what will you tell anyone else you talk to?"

Grissom sat up in the chair, irritated.

"What's your point?"

"Your coworkers? Your mother? Your girlfriend? What will you tell them?"

"I -- didn't -- kill -- her." Grissom felt his neck turning red. The headache began to pound.

"Wrong! The answer is NOTHING. You will tell them nothing, because no matter what you say, it will be turned around and used against you. Got that?"

Gil suddenly felt the need to confide in somebody. And he knew exactly who that somebody was.

"Who can I talk to?"

"Me," said the lawyer. It wasn't the answer Gil wanted. "Or a wife. You got a wife?"

"No."

"Then, just me."

"What about bail?"

"The DA is going to ask that you be held without bail, and I'm going to object like hell. You are going to stand there and look upset. And I mean UPSET! I don't want any of that sarcasm leaking out to the press. I don't want anyone saying you're too unemotional. You're the victim here. Start acting like it."

"Funny," Gil said. "I've had Kafka on the mind, lately."

"Has anyone ever seen you cry over a dead man?"# the attorney asked.

Grissom didn't answer.

"They're ready for you, Mr. Smith," the guard said, unlocking the door.

"Any last requests?" Smith asked Gil.

"Yeah. Can you scratch my nose?"

The judge had just taken the bench and the onlookers were still standing, as Grissom and Smith entered the courtroom from a side door. Gil spotted Nick, first, towering over the people in front of him. He had an arm around Sara, holding her up. She looked pale and weak, and her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying. One look at her face, and Gil didn't have to pretend to be upset. He was upset. Whoever was doing this, wasn't just doing it to him. He was doing it to his friends. He was doing it to the team. He was doing it to Sara. On the other side of Nick stood Catherine and Brass, their features hard as stone, her arm through his. Behind Catherine's calm expression, Grissom saw her deep pain. Their eyes locked, and everything became slow motion, until he was forced to turn around and face the judge. The depression into which he'd sunk began to take on a new and harder form; he recognized it as rage.

"Dr. Grissom. Mr. Smith. What's your pleasure?" the judge asked.

"We have received the information and affidavit and waive the twenty- four hour rule, and enter pleas of not guilty on all counts," Smith said.

"All counts?" Grissom mouthed, glancing up at his lawyer. He didn't know there was more than one.

"And on the issue of bail?" the judge asked.

The prosecution opened.

"Your honor, the defendant is charged with a particularly gruesome crime involving the rape and murder of a police woman. The evidence as presented in the supporting affidavits clearly shows that he was at her apartment, that they were intimate, and that he was the last person who saw her alive. No other prints were found in the apartment, save her own and her landlord's. This is a heinous crime, carrying a life sentence. Mr. Grissom poses a high risk to the community and a high risk of flight. He has no ties to the community. He has no wife or children. He is not involved in any civic organizations. And a search of his apartment turned up a number of materials relating to sexually aberrant behavior, which we believe to be highly relevant to this case. Therefore, we are asking that the defendant be held without bail."

"Mr. Smith?"

"Your honor, the state's case is purely circumstantial. They have no evidence whatsoever that Dr. Grissom committed this horrendous crime. His presence in the apartment, if true, only proves he knew the victim and had been to her apartment. That's all. Dr. Grissom has served Las Vegas as a criminal forensic investigator for fifteen years or more. The study of psychological aberrations of any kind, sexual or otherwise, is a part of his work. His life is his work, and his work has been solving crimes, not committing them. We ask that cash bail be set in a reasonable amount to insure appearance."

"Very well," said the judge. "While I agree that this is a horrendous crime and that sufficient evidence has been filed to support a finding of probable cause, the state's case is circumstantial. And I won't hold it against Dr. Grissom that he's lucky enough to still be single. And as for anything sexually aberrant, this is Vegas. Define aberrant. However," the judge directed his next remarks to Smith, "people are convicted everyday on circumstantial evidence. And the evidence is compelling. Therefore, I am setting bail at $500,000. And should your client manage to make bail, he is ordered not to leave the county. Is that clear?"

Gil swallowed and found his throat dry. He couldn't afford his lawyer, where was he going to get a half million dollars in bail? As he turned to leave, his eyes met Catherine's again, and he didn't like what he was thinking.

"Mr. Smith," he said. "There's something I need to tell you."

******

"Catherine, you can't get involved!" Gil was speaking to Willows in one of the visiting rooms in the detention facility. They faced each other across a gray metal table, but a guard nearby made sure they never touched. "You have to hold our team together! Everyone will be looking to you. You can't comprise the credibility of the team."

"Gil, wake up and smell the press releases, will ya? Our credibility was compromised the moment you...." She hesitated.

"Slept with Carol?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Words froze in Catherine's throat. He was confessing to her, and she didn't want to hear it.

"So, that was you in the shower," she said, at last.

He closed his eyes and didn't answer. So many emotions were trying to erupt through his skin.

Silence is acquiescence, she reminded herself. Swallowing her own pride, she began, again.

"Our credibility was compromised the moment you were arrested. You're page one news. CNN picked it up. Hell, even the goddam Enquirer has your mugshot plastered all over it: Bug Man Slays Sexy Vegas Cop."

Grissom's boiling point rose a notch higher.

"Damn!

His jaw tightened. He couldn't cry in front of her. He wouldn't let himself cry in front of her. It would be too much, for both of them. But she saw the tears behind his eyes, anyway, and the pain was so unbearable, she almost had to look away.

Catherine spoke first.

"Come on, Gil. We're a team. You and I. All of us. The avalanche has happened and we're all buried up to our goddam necks. Digging you out means digging us out. We're in this together."

She quickly glanced at the guard. She wanted to reach out across the table and touch Gil. Just one little touch to let him know that she understood.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," he said, speaking slowly and sounding almost normal for the first time in days. "I never meant to hurt anyone. Especially you."

"A lot of people got hurt, Gil, but it isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

A moment of tense silence passed between them.

"I'll resign," he said, at last. "I need to resign, for the team. For you."

"God damn you!" Catherine exploded. "Don't you dare do that to me!"

Too many emotions were trying to break down that door, that wall, between them.

"Talk to me, Gil."

"I can't."

"If you're worried about hurting my feelings, it's too late for that."

"They'll put you on the stand. They'll ask you what I said."

"If you didn't kill her...."

He sat up, startled.

"You think there's even a chance that I did?" He sounded angry.

"Jesus, Gil! That's not what I'm saying," she protested. "I KNOW you didn't kill her. So how can anything you tell me be used against you?"

"Stop being naive," he said, bitterly. "You know better. You know how this works."

Catherine clasped her hands together, trying to hang onto her own fragile sanity.

"I didn't come here to argue with you. We're going to clear your name, and that's all there is to it."

As she stood up to leave, Grissom suddenly panicked. He didn't want her to go. He needed her. If only for a few more seconds.

"I'm not perfect, Catherine," he said.

"No kidding, Sherlock!"

"I know what everyone says about me. You made that quite clear more than once. I'm the Bug Man. I don't have any feelings. I don't have a personal life. I'm...."

"Hermetically sealed," she finished.

His eyes pleaded with her to understand.

"I'm a man, Catherine. I have the same needs as any other man. I just don't bring those needs to work."

"Or to me." She was surprised at how much anger went into that response.

"Or to you," he admitted.

"Maybe you should have." She turned to head out the door.

"Catherine, I need a favor," he said. She turned around. Lately, she was feeling like she'd done one too many favors for him.

"What, Gil?"

"I need you to take care of Sara. She's not as strong as you are. I'm worried about her."

"You should be," Catherine said, sarcastically. She instantly regretted her reaction. "Don't worry about Sara. We're all there for her."

Brass was waiting for her at the car.

"How's he doing?" he asked.

"About what you'd expect," Catherine responded.

"Does he need anything?"

"Yeah." She turned and looked Jim straight in the eye. "He needs me to take care of Sara. He's worried bout her. He said she's not as strong as I am." She couldn't keep the resentment out of her tone.

"She's not," Jim agreed. "But who will take care of you?"

Catherine got into the car without answering.

--TBC--