Gil caught up with Jim at the Braun mansion around noon. The detective had changed clothes but looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep. His officers had cordoned off the press, and their cameras quickly turned towards Grissom.

"What are you doing here?" Brass asked, irritated, as Gil climbed out of his SUV, his sunglasses hiding his own fatigue.

"I'm the director. I get to watch," Gil snapped back.

"Just don't touch anything!" Brass ordered.

Gil sighed, wondering if he and Jim would ever repair the damage to their relationship, then walked up to Sophia, who was dressed in her jumpsuit and taking notes, all the while talking to herself.

"How's it going?"

"Going," she said, giving him a warm smile. "Something I can help you with?"

Gil was staring at the mansion. Crime scenes, even bloody ones, were nothing new to him. Being intimidated by one was.

"Gil?" Sophia asked, again. "I'm talking to you."

"Oh, right." He turned to her. "A couple of things. I need to get Lindsey's and Catherine's clothes and drop them off, and I want...."

He paused a moment, wondering if 'want' was the right word and glancing back at the house. "I need to have a look."

She nodded.

"Come with me," she said. "And wear your gloves."

It was a good thing she'd reminded him, because it was the last thing on his mind. He picked the latex gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on.

Downstairs, the servants were cleaning up from the party. The study was taped off, as were the stairs going up. Gil stopped before the study door, first. Sophia stepped in front of him and raised the tape, letting him through.

The television had been turned off, but everything else was untouched. From all appearances, nothing had happened here, but Gil noted the chair facing the television, the wine glasses on the desk, one edged with lipstick, and the remote control lying in the middle of the floor. In his mind, he could picture Catherine walking into the room and setting her glass down. He saw her sitting in the chair, her legs crossed, her hair tossed to one side. He saw Braun turning on the television and what had to be her reaction. There was an argument. Maybe a struggle. The television was left on and the remote wound up on the floor. At some point she had to have run out of the room and up the stairs, Braun in pursuit. Gil walked through it, seeing the ghostly images of Catherine and Braun play out the events. An officer was unearthing stacks of videos and DVDs from a wall safe and was piling them on a small table, to be catalogued and filed as evidence. Together, they preserved the scandalous history of Las Vegas' best known personalities for the last forty years, and Gil had to admit a certain morbid curiosity about their contents. A lot of people could be hurt by those tapes, but Gil and Catherine wouldn't be two of them, unless he considered what they'd already been through. That was hurt, enough.

Sophia touched him gently on the arm to get his attention, then led him up the curved staircase to the bedrooms, retracing Catherine's attempted escape.

Maybe it was self-preservation, but Gil decided to enter Lindsey's room first. Her school books sat open on the desk, next to the computer. On a pad of paper, she had scribbled some sketches of spiders and a heart that read Mom & Linds & Gil 4Ever. It was the dream of a schoolgirl, whose last memories of her own father were his violent life and tragic death. Gil never knew Lindsey felt this way, but he wanted her to know he understood. He picked up a pencil, and underneath the heart he wrote: Dear Lindsey, Be strong. Take care of your mother for me. Spider kisses, Uncle Gil. He smiled slightly, imagining her reaction when she read the note. He closed the notebook and stuffed it with her school things into her backpack.

The formal dress she had refused to wear had been tossed on the floor in the corner. The shelves of porcelain dolls were untouched, and her well-worn, fuzzy green frog doll was left abandoned in the middle of the bed. He picked it up and studied it, knowing she would want it. Sophia watched, silently, as Gil then opened the closet. He glanced at the new clothes, then found a suitcase, plopped it on the bed and began filling it with her old things. When he was done, he packed the frog on top, making sure it was comfortably nestled in the clothes.

"I'll have someone take these out," Sophia told him, motioning for an officer to grab the suitcase and backpack.

"Can you put the computer in the rig, too?" he asked, as an afterthought. "She'll need it for school."

Sophia nodded.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She indicated Catherine's room down the hall.

He stood there quietly for a moment, his hands in his jacket pockets.

"No," he said finally. "But I have to."

She nodded, understanding.

He followed her into Catherine's bedroom, or, rather, the room Sam Braun had put Catherine in. There was nothing in the room that said Catherine, nothing that reflected her taste or personality. When they entered, Nick and Warrick were working the room.

"Where are your teams?" Gil asked the new supervisors.

"Hey," Nick said, looking up from collecting fibers on the bed. "We wanted to do this one ourselves, for Catherine."

Gil nodded.

"Hey, man, how you doing?" Warrick asked. He was standing on a ladder and taking apart the video equipment from behind a vent in the wall.

Gil wanted to respond, but his eyes had fallen on the blood soaked bed and the clean space where Catherine's body had protected the bedding. For a minute he just stared at it, imprinting it in his mind, visualizing the assault. He shuddered. Nick and Warrick just glanced at each other and didn't say anything. Gil, suddenly aware of the silence, looked up.

"I just need to get Catherine's things," he said.

"In there." Nick motioned to the walk-in closet.

Gil opened the doors, and again saw new clothes. But when he went for the suitcases, he found they were full. Catherine had never unpacked. She had never moved in. He set a suitcase on a chair and opened it, gently passed his hand over her things, remembering each outfit the way she'd worn it. He went through a side pocket, and found her address book. Clipped to the back was a small copy of the same picture he kept in his shoebox. His throat started to constrict. Nick joined him and rested his hand on Gil's shoulder.

"She's tough. She's going to be alright," Nick assured Gil.

Gil nodded, but didn't look at him, as he put the photo and the address book back in the suitcase.

Sophia took the suitcase out of Gil's reach, closed and zipped it, then had an officer take both of them away.

"Let's go," she said, softly, taking Gil's arm.

His feet didn't want to cooperate. He was still staring at the spot where the suitcase had been. Nick had never seen such a look of despair on Gil's face before.

"Hey, are you going to be alright?" he asked.

Gil nodded and swallowed hard, hiding his pain behind the sunglasses.

"Yes. Thanks," he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. He let Sophia lead him out of the room.

"Man, that is not good," Warrick told Nick.

Nick nodded.

Gil was half-way to Nancy's house when he stopped, parked the vehicle, got out and opened Catherine's suitcase, again. He sifted through it, careful not to unfold anything. He didn't really know what he was looking for, he just wanted something of hers to hang onto. It was an emotional reaction. Irrational, he knew. But that didn't seem to matter. He settled on a pale green scarf, heavy with her scent, the same scent he remembered from the satin pillows. He held it to his face and breathed it in, then rolled it up and put it in a plastic evidence bag, for safe keeping. He tucked the bag in his glove compartment before getting back on the road.

When he pulled in Nancy's driveway , her husband, Rick, came out and met the car.

"I'll take that," he said, grabbing the computer.

"I'll give you a hand," Gil offered.

"No. Stay here. I'll be right back."

Gil stood alone in the driveway, not sure what to do, as Rick returned for Catherine's two bags, then made a third trip for Lindsey's bag and backpack.

"How is she?" Gil nervously asked.

Rick shook his head.

"Too soon to tell," he said, avoiding Gil's eyes. "We hope to have her home, soon."

Gil grabbed Rick's arm before he could disappear into the house for the last time.

"I want to see her."

Rick turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom. I can't let you do that."

Gil started to protest, but Rick cut him off.

"Look, I know you mean well, but it's a bad idea. Nancy is really pissed, and Catherine is in no shape for visitors. Just let it alone, for now, okay?"

Gil's fist tightened on the opened vehicle door.

"Can I at least see Lindsey?" he asked.

Nancy stepped out onto the porch, a dishtowel in her hands.

"You still here?" she demanded to know, her eyes burrowing into him.

"He wants to see Lindsey," Rick yelled at her, looking at his wife for permission.

"Tell him to go to hell," she spat, turning back into the house and slamming the door behind her.

Gil turned to Rick.

"Talk to her. Please. Catherine and Lindsey are.... They're like my family."

"We're their family," Rick answered. "I think you should leave, now."

Dejected, Gil opened the door to get into his truck, but Rick spoke, again.

"Look," he said, "I know how close you were. If she asks for you, I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Gil said, glancing back at him. 'How close you were.' Gil couldn't help but hear the past tense in that phrase.

He drove away, never seeing the thirteen-year-old girl waving frantically at him from the upstairs window.

Lindsey came bounding down the stairs and into Nancy's arms.

"Uncle Gil!" she screamed, trying to get past her aunt and to the door. "Uncle Gil!"

But Nancy held her back, until the child broke into sobs. Her Uncle Rick set the luggage down on the hall floor.

"It's alright," he told Lindsey, trying to soothe her. "Your mom will be home soon, and everything will be alright."

"I want to go home with Uncle Gil!" Lindsey screamed and stomped her foot. "I want to go, and you can't stop me!"

She turned, ran up the stairs to the spare room, and buried her head in a pillow.

Three blocks away, Gil had to pull the SUV to the side of the road and put it in park. His hands were in knots. He was having trouble breathing. He couldn't see to drive. The composure he'd worked so hard to hold onto all day finally cracked. He took off the sunglasses and buried his face in his arms. He couldn't stop the tears anymore.

*******

"All I want to do is talk to her," Gil argued over the phone, a few days later. He was in his office, with the door closed, his fingers playing with Catherine's scarf.

Nancy and Rick had checked Catherine out of the hospital and taken her home. They moved her into the spare bedroom and turned the sewing room over to Lindsey. When Gil found out, he called, but Nancy hung up on him without a word. Now, he had Rick on the phone.

"I'm sorry, Gil, but we can't allow it. She needs to rest. I'm really sorry." He hung up before Gil could respond.

Gil slammed down the phone, thought a minute, then grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began to write: 'Dear Catherine....' It was as far as he got. He angrily tore up the note. He tried to call, again. No answer. He put the scarf in his lab coat pocket and threw himself into his work.

That night, as he hovered over an autopsy with Doc Robbins and Sara, he realized something he had never noticed before. He lifted his blood-covered, latex-gloved hands and stared at them.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked.

"It seems," he said, reflecting, "that the only time I touch people these days, they're dead, and I'm wearing latex."

Sara frowned.

"So," she said. "Take off the gloves and touch living people."

It was so simple to her, and so difficult for him.

He grunted and went back to work.

That night, he slept in his office, with Catherine's scarf secretly tucked inside his pillowcase.

*******

Lindsey sat cross-legged on her mother's bed and watched her sleep. A small table loaded with prescription medications and a glass of water stood next to the bed.

"You shouldn't be in here," Nancy said, whispering, as she tried to get the child to leave.

"She needs me," Lindsey said. "I'm not leaving."

They had been fighting all week, and Nancy was exhausted.

"Alright. Stay, then. But don't wake her up!"

Lindsey sat as quietly as she could, listening as her aunt and uncle argued downstairs.

"It's the only way," Nancy was saying. "Otherwise, he's just going to keep calling."

"He's in love with her. And last I heard, she was in love with him," Rick argued.

"Look, we can get a temporary order, and when Cathy's feeling better, she can have it changed. But I don't want him calling here or coming here or bothering her, anymore."

"He's not bothering her," Rick said. "He's bothering you."

"Somebody has to protect her. Somebody has to look out for Lindsey."

Rick rubbed his eyes. He was getting a headache from talking in circles.

"I know," he said. "I just.... I understand what he must be going through."

Nancy was relentless.

"Maybe he should have thought of that before he got mixed up in the murder!"

"Okay," Rick relented. "I'll file the papers with the court in the morning. Just remember, this was your idea."

When the fighting stopped, a frightened Lindsey crawled under the covers next to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. Catherine stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and through the haze of her medication, she recognized her daughter.

"Come here," she said softly, pulling the child closer. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

*******

Friday, Gil sent flowers; they were rejected. He was pacing in his office, his hand holding the scarf in his pocket, when Jim Brass and the new sheriff, Tom Bartlett, showed up.

"I hate to do this, Gil," Brass was saying, as he handed papers to Grissom.

"What's this?"

"A temporary restraining order. You're not to call, write, or go anywhere near the home of Nancy and Rick Greene."

Gil stared at the paper without opening it.

"Why?" he asked.

"They claim you've been stalking Catherine Willows," the sheriff said.

Gil's face turned to stone. He slowly opened the notice and read it. Then he read it, again. The TRO was good for two weeks, then the court would have a hearing on whether or not to extend it for a full year.

"They don't have a right to do this," he argued. "Catherine would never agree to it."

"Catherine doesn't get a say," Brass explained. "Nancy's been appointed temporary guardian over Catherine's affairs. And, since Catherine was Braun's only heir, they're handling his estate, now, too."

Gil had completely forgotten about the casinos.

"How is she?" he asked. It was the one question no one seemed to be able to answer.

"I talked to Rick Greene this morning," Jim said. "She's lucid, but weak. She hasn't been out of bed, yet. He'll contact me if anything changes."

Gil nodded, relieved Catherine was making progress.

"Let me know, will you?" he asked.

Brass nodded. As the two men turned to leave, they had to step around Sara. She closed the door behind them and took a seat. Gil was still standing, staring at her.

"Can I do something for you?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"Yes, you can sit down and stop being an ass," she said, propping her boots on the edge of his desk.

Gil took his seat, giving her a dirty look.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, sarcastically.

"You are still the director, aren't you?" Sara asked.

"Your point?"

"Start acting like one."

Gil leaned back in his chair, his fingers tented in front of him, considering her words.

"What would you suggest I do?" he finally asked.

"Well, for starters, we need someone to fill the assistant director's position...."

"Until Catherine comes back."

"Okay, until Catherine comes back. But we still need someone."

Gil sighed. He knew she was right, but he couldn't bear the thought of someone else in Catherine's office.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Yeah. You're invited to supper, and before you get any of your weird ideas, the rest of the gang will be there, too."

Gil leaned forward and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I'm really not up to it, Sara. Thanks, anyway."

Sara dropped her legs and leaned towards him. She wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You don't get it, do you? We are having supper at my place tonight at 6. You will be there, or I will send Nick and Warrick to get you. Is that clear?"

He frowned.

"I don't like being pushed, Sara," he said.

"Tough!" she said. "We don't like a director who can't get his shit together, either."

She got up and walked out, leaving him wondering what train had just hit him.

At 6:30, Nick and Warrick were at Gil's door.

"Am I being kidnapped?" he asked, gruffly.

They ignored his mood.

"You got it," said Nick.

Gil threw up his hands and surrendered himself to his friends.

*******

Lindsey had surrendered, too, in her own way. She spent Saturday unpacking her suitcases and putting things away. The first thing she found was her frog.

"Froggy!" she yelled, running down the hall to her mother's bedroom.

Catherine opened her eyes a little, but didn't lift her head. She motioned weakly for her daughter to approach.

"It's Froggy," Lindsey repeated, lowering her voice, so her Aunt Nancy wouldn't get upset.

"That's nice, dear," her mother said.

Catherine licked her lips, her mouth dry. Lindsey put down the frog and poured a glass of water for her mother, then helped hold her head while Catherine sipped at it.

"When are you going to get up?" Lindsey asked.

Catherine smiled a little.

"Soon, honey. I just need to rest, okay?"

Lindsey nodded, gave her mom a kiss, and ran back to her room to finish unpacking. Later, she asked her Uncle Rick if he could hook up the computer, so she could go online. He put her off, and she overheard her aunt and uncle talking about computer safety. She knew it would be a long time before they let her have access the Internet. She went back to her room and was rummaging through her book bag, when she found the note from her Uncle Gil. Lindsey beamed and held the notebook close to her heart. She wanted to show it to her mom, but she heard her aunt on the stairs, quickly closed the notebook and stuck it under her mattress.

"I really need the Internet to do homework," she complained to Nancy, when the woman stuck her head through the door.

"We'll see," she said. "Go to bed now. You have school, tomorrow." Lindsey nodded, but when Nancy's bedroom door was closed, she changed into her pajamas and snuck back into her mother's room. As she cuddled next to Catherine, Lindsey said, "I miss Uncle Gil. Do you miss Uncle Gil?"

Catherine's eyes watered up with tears as she gazed lovingly at her daughter.

"Let's not talk about that, now," she said. "Mommy's too tired."

She drifted back to sleep.

That night, Lindsey Willows snuck downstairs and found the telephone book. Taking out a piece of scratch paper and a pen, she flipped through the yellow pages to the ones marked lawyer and began writing down names and numbers. Then she went through her mom's things, until she found her purse, and took $47. Lindsey replaced the cash with a note promising to pay it back. She put the money and the phone numbers in her backpack for the next day, then curled up with her mom and went to sleep.

*******

On the other side of town, Gil sat on a kitchen stool in Sara's apartment, drinking beer from a bottle and watching his friends kick back and relax. They were watching comedy on television, eating pizza and cracking jokes. If they had bothered to look at him, they wouldn't have been able to tell that he was working on a plan of his own, a plan to get Catherine and Lindsey back in his life.

"Feeling better?" Sara asked, leaving the group to break his isolation.

He wondered if it was a trick question.

"If you mean, do I feel like killing myself, the answer is no, I don't. If you're asking me if I'm happy with the way things are, I'm not."

Sara sighed.

"What would make you happy, Grissom?" she asked. "What do you really want in life?"

He took a drink of his beer and glanced around at his friends. They enjoyed a closeness he had often envied.

"Don't ignore the question," Sara instructed.

"I'm not," Gil said. "I'm thinking."

Sara shook her head.

"Maybe it's time to stop thinking and start doing," she suggested.

"Maybe it is," he agreed. "Do you have a phone book?"

-- TBC --