Warrick awoke in Sara's bed to the smell of bacon and eggs. For a second, he couldn't remember where he was. Then he reached out and discovered that Sara was gone. Sitting up, he saw her standing at the stove, cooking. Her dark hair was wet from just coming out of the shower, and she was dressed in a short terry cloth robe.

"I thought you didn't eat meat," Warrick said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to find a clock.

"I don't," Sara said, glancing back at him. "But you do."

"You went to the store, already?" he asked, confused.

"It's just around the corner," she said, shrugging. "No big deal. The bathroom's that way." She pointed across the room.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Almost three p.m. You need to leave for work, soon."

"How do you know that? Where's the clock?"

"I don't use a clock," Sara said, scraping the contents of the frying pan onto a plate and setting it on the table. "I just know."

Warrick made his bathroom stop, cleaned up, and joined her.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble," he said.

"Yeah, I did," Sara answered. She looked him in the eye before speaking again. "You were right, you know. Everything you said this morning. You were right."

"I didn't think you'd remember," Warrick sighed, biting into his breakfast. He was surprised by how hungry he was. "Aren't you having some?"

"Already ate."

She got up and started cleaning up the pile of dishes in the sink, as Warrick watched her.

"Need some help?" he asked, bringing his now empty plate to her.

"Thanks, but I got it. Besides, it's not like I have anything else to do, today."

Her whole body seemed to slump against the sink, as the weight of her depression pressed down on her. Warrick couldn't help himself. He turned her around to face him, brushed a single tear from her cheek, and pulled her into an embrace.

"Why haven't you ever held me like this, before?" she asked, looking up into his eyes.

"Grissom was always in the way," he answered.

She smiled.

"You'd better get to work."

"I know."

He bent over and gently kissed her on the mouth. Startled, Sara stared up at him for a moment, before slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a longer and sweeter kiss. He was more than willing, but still cognizant of the time. He finally pulled away, nervously licking his lips.

"Call me if you need me," he said, turning to leave.

"Warrick?" She called his name just as he opened the door, and he turned part way around to look at her.

"I need you," she said.

Warrick smiled warmly.

"I'll be back," he said.

******

Catherine woke up on the sofa in Gil's apartment, covered in a soft, warm blanket. She looked around the room for Gil, but didn't see him. Getting up, she tiptoed to his bedroom and found him stretched out on his bed and softly snoring. Quietly closing the door, she went back to the kitchen and started dinner. A few minutes later, he was awake, his nose following the aroma of her cooking.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

His clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them and he had sleepy seeds at the edges of his eyes. Catherine took a tissue and carefully wiped them away.

"I was hungry," she said, turning back to the stove. "Want some?"

Still stunned from the unexpected display of intimacy, he didn't have time to respond before she spoon fed him a taste of her casserole.

"Mmmm. That's good. How did you do that?" he asked.

"Chemistry," she said, smiling. "I used the leftovers from your welcome home party."

Taking a clean fork, he scooped out a bite and put it to her lips.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Turnabout is fair play," he said, smiling.

She opened her mouth and took a bite.

"Mmmm. Not bad," she said. "I should really do this more often."

Gil leaned against the counter and watched her as she continued her work. He was smiling to himself.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"I just never thought I'd see you in this context," he said. "It's.... enlightening."

"What, you think just because I work all hours of the day and night that I don't know how to cook?" She pretended to be insulted.

"I'm sure you're superb at whatever you put your mind to," he answered.

Her eyebrows went up, again, as he collected silverware and glasses for the table.

Catherine dished the casserole onto a couple of plates and carried them to the table.

"Where do you usually sit?" she asked, still holding the plates.

"What?" he asked.

"Everyone has a place at the table where he or she usually sits. Where do you usually sit?"

He looked down at the table, somewhat confused. He had to admit, he honestly never thought about it.

"Well," he said. "Let's see."

He tried one chair, moved it around a bit, shook his head, and got up and tried a second chair. Catherine patiently held the plates, as he shook his head and tried a third chair. By now, she was rolling her eyes. He didn't seem sure, so he tried the fourth chair, just to check it out. Shaking his head, he went back to the third chair, and smiled.

"This one," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He realized she was more than a little peeved with him. He nodded. "I'm sure."

She set the plate down in front of him.

"You know, it's all your fault, don't you?" he said, as he took his first bite.

Catherine sat down in the chair next to him, picked up her fork and glared.

"What's all my fault?"

"The chair thing. I mean, I never really thought about it, before. If you had just set the food down, I probably would have sat down wherever it was."

He continued to eat, pretending not to notice her irritation.

"You can do the dishes," she told him, finally giving in to her own hunger.

He smiled a little to himself and continued to eat. It was good to be home.

*******

"Hey, man, you're still wearing the clothes you had on when you got off shift, this morning," Nick said, staring at his partner. "Where have you been all day?"

Warrick quickly changed shirts with a clean one he had in his locker.

"I've been sleeping, why?"

"I tried to call you, and you didn't answer."

Warrick pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at it.

"Damn!" he said. "Batteries dead. Remind me to get new ones before we get on the road."

Nick scowled.

"I tried your home phone, too," he said. "You didn't answer that, either."

"I told you, man," Warrick snapped. "I was sleeping."

Leaving Nick behind, Warrick stomped out of the crime lab locker room.

"Hey, wait up!" Nick called after him. "Greggo is looking for us."

Warrick stopped in the corridor and turned to face Nick.

"For what?" he asked.

Nick glanced around, looking for Eckley.

"Not here," he said, signaling for Warrick to follow him to the lab, where Greg was waiting.

"What have you got?" Nick asked.

Greg didn't look happy.

"The DNA does not match Eckley's," he said.

"I knew that was too good to be true," Nick growled.

"Then who does it match?" Warrick asked, his shoulders falling in disappointment.

"That's the interesting part," Greg said. "It belongs to a dead guy."

Both Nick and Warrick looked surprised.

"How dead?" Warrick asked.

"About three years," Greg answered.

"How does a dead guy's semen end up in a dead woman's body?" Nick asked.

"Ah, the eternal question," Greg responded. When they gave him dirty looks, he continued. "It seems our dead guy was a sperm donor. Fresh frozen and ready for your oven."

"And does this dead guy have a name?" Nick asked.

"Yes, he does," said Greg, calling up the information on his computer. "Paul Millander."

"No shit!" both investigators said at once.

They all recognized the name of a serial killer who, before ending his own life in a bathtub with a bullet in his heart, had haunted Grissom.

"Somebody is seriously toying with our boy," said Nick, referring to Grissom. "And my money is still on Eckley."

"This is a plant," said Warrick. "He knew we'd check the findings. He put that there to taunt us."

"I agree," said Greg. "But how do we prove it?"

-- TBC --