As Catherine entered the office, Grissom sat at his desk contentedly working on a crossword puzzle from the latest compilation of New York Times Sunday Crosswords. He was completely oblivious to the insistent ringing of the phone. It did not look like he was going to answer it any time soon. Still in the doorway, Catherine frowned as she observed his demeanor. Several of the other members had expressed a concern that he was ignoring them; on at least one occasion, Grissom did not answer respond to any of their questions. She had decided to broach the subject today since it was relatively quiet. However, now, she was more than merely concerned; she was very worried. She had seen this behavior before.

Somewhat irked by the continually ringing phone, Catherine crossed the room and reached across a surprised Grissom to answer it. Smoothly interjecting a small white lie - she was, after all, answering Grissom's phone - she borrowed Grissom's pen and efficiently wrote details on their next case: a human pin cushion.

Hanging up the phone, Catherine leaned against Grissom's desk and gazed at the man in question. She could not help but worry about him. He was and is her oldest friend, her support during the worst happenings of her life. This sentiment went both ways.

She watched Grissom lean back in his chair as she continued to appraise him. Although he was an enigma to everybody else, she could easily see the questions lurking in his posture, his eyes: What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?

The mail cart suddenly crashed into the door of the office. Predictably, Catherine started but Grissom merely sat there, unbothered by the noise, and narrowed his eyes in concern as she jumped.

Suddenly, the pieces fell into the place: Grissom was slowly loosing his hearing. This went a long way to explain the "ignoring."

Sighing, she glanced at Grissom's face and slowly raised her hands and asked: How long has this been going on?

She could see the surprise on his face as she signed the words. He clearly thought she had forgotten sign language. She had learned American Sign Language from a very special woman about fifteen years ago. To overcome her grief at the woman's death, she had vowed never to forget and had taught sign language to a growing Lindsey. Eventually, it became a special bond between mother and daughter. It had helped them through the difficult years before the divorce, during it, and the trying times of Lindsey's childhood.

Catherine watched as Grissom washed his hands over his face. Leaning further back in his chair, Grissom stared at the ceiling. She could see the dark circles under his eyes; he was not sleeping well again.

"I don't know. At first, it was so gradual that I wasn't sure. It was just a moment here and there where I couldn't hear anything. Then, I was crossing the street during a case and didn't hear a car. It nearly ran me over. I went to the doctor, Catherine. I don't know when the hearing will completely go. I don't know if any of the treatments will work. I don't even know if I can be a candidate for any of them." Grissom's voice had become a dry whisper.

The agony of not knowing was apparent to Catherine. The need to know everything was part of the reason why she and Grissom had become crime scene investigators in the first place.

Wanting to ease some of his troubled thoughts, she leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. He raised his head from the back of the chair to look at his oldest friend. Looking at her face, he could believe that she would make everything right. She was the only person who knew most of his secrets, could read him like an open book, and was on the same wavelength as he was, that it was almost scary.

"Gil, let's take this one step at a time. Have you told Brass yet? Have you considered your options?"

He was glad to be right. Catherine would help him, just like last time.

Shaking his head, Grissom replied, "I'm not sure how to get the subject into the open." Pausing to reflect before continuing, he mused, "Options? The most logical one would be to retire, isn't it?"

At the uncharacteristically un-sure response, Catherine felt her heart ache. Why did these things always have to happen to the most undeserving people?

Before she could respond, she heard Brass's footsteps coming towards Grissom's office. She quickly signed: We'll talk about this some more later. Brass is coming. Time to work.

Nodding, Grissom stood and intercepted Brass at the door. For now, Grissom could ignore his own problems to focus on solving another crime. After quickly gathering more details about the human pin cushion victim and hearing about another case – a car was found abandoned with a human head on a spike nearby. Deciding that Warrick and Sara would enjoy the human pin cushion, he, Catherine and Nick went to see the spiked head.

Truth be told, there were more and more patches where his hearing was going. To be on the safe side, he wanted Catherine nearby to help him out. A quick glance at her as they left the lab told him that she knew he wanted her at his side. She shot him a reassuring smile that turned into a cheeky grin.

A glib dare turned down forced Grissom to give the keys to the Tahoe to Catherine. He was grateful; he had been so preoccupied that he could not focus on the details of the case. It was as unusual as things get on the graveyard shift at the CSI. He needed a few moments to go over the case.

The crime scene had already attracted the fourth estate who was calling this a gruesome copy-cat of "Lord of the Flies". Never mind that there were a few key differing essentials.

A cursory glance of the scene told him that this was staged. The questions were: To whom did the head belong? Does the car have anything to do with the head? Why pick this particular place?

Nick began to take the pictures. As he took the shots, Grissom wandered to where a group of kids stood terrified. It was obvious that they had notified the police. Suddenly, every sound dampened to nothing. He could not hear a thing the kids were saying. Trying not to panic, he focused on reading their lips but it was difficult to do in the dim light. As before, his other senses sharpened to compensate for the hearing loss, beginning with smell. Within seconds, his panic dimmed as he noticed Catherine's light perfume gracing the space next to him. Glancing quickly at her, he realized that she had perceived the exact moment his hearing had dampened and came to help him question the witnesses.

Letting her takeover, Grissom turned around to view crime scene once again. Sight was becoming a very interesting sensation. Not caring if Nick was finished with the pictures, he crossed to the car. It was important in some way. He kneeled next to the car on the side closer to the spiked head and waited for Catherine.

Soon enough, she placed a hand on his shoulder and crouched next to him. She spoke quietly while surreptitiously signing the kids' story. This is neutral turf for the various gangs in the area. Those kids are runaways. They're here to avoid the underground gang wars. This particular car is Switzerland. She glanced at the spiked head. The spiked victim there is a defected member of the one of the more powerful gangs. He went to a job - nobody knows what - and didn't come back. The kids heard a big ruckus, hid; when the coast was clear, there was the head.

As Catherine spoke, Grissom leaned forward, intent. The tire tracks around the car were concentric circles. If the head merely was brought here, then the tire tracks did not fit. There would have been only two sets: in and out.