"You know . . . they say people act all *crazy* on nights with a full moon." Greg lifted his head to look suspiciously at Catherine, giving her a glare that, coming from anyone else, would look estranged and slightly psychotic. This was Greg, though, and so, it looked completely normal---well, almost normal.

"Yea, well, with all the evidence and bodies we see coming through here on a nightly basis, I don't think it's JUST nights with a full moon." Catherine was getting irritated from the lack of evidence; hell, evidence that pointed to ANYTHING or ANYONE would be a nice surprise. Currently, she was waiting for her only piece of evidence to conclude processing . . ."

"Another dead end; sorry Cath . . . hey, maybe, ya know it being a full moon and all--"

"Thanks greg . . . and no." Her lips turned up into a quirky little smile at the thought of what Greg would propose "with it being a full moon and all." Sometimes she wondered why he flirted with her when she had made it clear that they were going no where. Maybe he just didn't get the point the {first} hundred times.

Catherine floated down the hall, no expecting any further developments on her case tonight. What she really needed was a nice, warm bubble bath---anything at all to get her mind off work and this dreadful case. No such luck . . . she was {still} at work and there was no end in sight, even with a dead-end case. She surpressed the urge to curse everytime she found new evidence---new evidence that led no where. It was as though all the evidence was pointing in different directions . . . maybe this was one case that she couldn't solve. She swore she would never stop trying until there was nothing left to try . . . and now, there was nothing left to try, not even a neon sign pointing to the killer would convict them . . .

Gil Grissom, CSI extraordinaire, walked up behind Cath and stopped her.

"We've got a man in the interrogation room who is confessing to your murders. C'mon . . ." She followed him down the hall into the small room next to the on-going confession.

"Wha . . How? Who is he? How'd you find him?" Catherine was completely stunned; the tall, bulky man on the other side of the glass was confessing to the murders of the four little girls the CSIs had found murdered this week and last. Catherine was the only one not on a case at the time of the first murder and, against Grissom's better judgement, she was assigned the case . . . the case that turned into multiple cases---multiple cases without any evidence to incriminate anyone. Now, there was a man in the next room telling about every single murder, names included, and how it was done---how {he} had done it.

"We didn't find him . . . he found us. He just walked right in, started blabbing things to Brass about the murders of the girls and we set him up in here. He just kept going about all the evidence, what he did, how he did it. Says he couldn't take his conscience anymore---that it was driving him mad. I gotta give it to you---he's no ordinary killer, he *listens* to him conscience and obeys it."

"Do we have a name?"

"Jackson Graves."

"mmmmm. So he's confessed to it all? And my job is done?"

"Yes. We've got it all on tape and we've already sent for a warrant to search his home. He's also told us where he's hidden all the incriminating evidence. Your job is done . . . unless you want to come with and search him house."

"Why not . . . there isn't anything else for me to do around here. Plus, this is my case, I'd like to come away from it with concrete evidence. All I'd be doing here is sit around *waiting* for Greg to hit on me some more." Grissom chuckled at this, a low chuckle, only noticeable to himself and Catherine. He knew all too well of the crush their dear little Greggo had on Cath. He felt bad for the boy sometimes, but then he felt bad for Cath---everytime she needed evidence, there was Greg, donning one of his strange hats, ready to pounce on her like a cat in heat.

They turned to leave when Catherine stole one last glance at their perp, "I guess people *do* act strangely with a full moon out . . ."

These words were not left unnoticed by Gil, whose face contorted in confusion. They turned and left the room, Grissom placing a hand in the small of Catherine's back, guiding her out the door and down the hall. Usually not a very touchy-feely kind of guy, Catherine was puzzled and Greg's words once again rang in her head. She brushed them away and relished in the heat crawling up her spine from his touch.

Catherine heard a crash and the loud thud of a door being slammed {open.} She looked to the direction of the noises and saw Greg bounding his way toward them. His face was flushed and angry; his eyes were dark and saddened. Suddenly, both Cath and Grissom were aware of the cause of Greg's anger. They bolted apart, mouths agape. Greg thrust out his finger, pointing to them with confusion writing volumes on his face. He screamed at them.

"Grissom . . . you *knew* I liked Catherine! How could you? She's supposed to come home with ME! I want her; no sharing allowed. None of this *touching* c'mon, take your hands off her!" Greg pushed Gil's hand away only to be met with persistance on Gil's part. What had started out as a small shove of the hand had escalated into throwing of fists. Soon enough, Gil and Greg were wrestling on the floor, Greg screaming in anger and Gil trying to defend himself against this raging kid. All Catherine could do was watch and laugh at this point . . . after all, it isn't every day that two men are fighting over you in the hallway of the lab. She soon came to her senses and yelled at the both to stop. A few more punches were thrown---each one missing the intended target by a mile---and the fight ceased. Catherine stepped between the two men and looked at them. Greg's hat was thrown to the ground and his hair was a mess. Gil was a little more composed but still disheveled---shirt wrinkled and bunched up.

"Greg, go back to the lab . . . now. I'm fine, Gil and I were only going to investigate the house of a suspected murderer. I really don't know what you're getting all riled up about. Go back to work . . . and Gil . . . fighting with co-workers? C'mon . . . you know better---you're the boss, now act like it."

"But he started it--"

"No buts mister, do you want to come on the investigation or not? If you do, stop making me feel like your mother and act like a *BIG* boy . . ." With that, Catherine stalked away. Gil ran after her and toward the glass door, intent on opening it like a gentleman, he forgot to push and ran his head into it. Catherine stiffled a laugh at this and Gil groaned in humilliation. He pried himself off the glass and opened it up fo her, head beet-red from embarassment. Cath walked through the open door and met Gil at the Tahoe.

They climbed in and were on their way to the crime scene when Gil pulled the car over.

"I'm sorry; I acted like a lunatic in there. I didn't mean to upset you . . . thank you for putting me back on track." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. Catherine pulled back, terrified at the way everyone had been acting the last few hours.

"Whoa, Gil what in the world is going on here? Why are you acting so strangely?"

"I'm not acting strange . . . you are. I thought you wanted this as much as I did."

"You thought I wanted WHAT as much as you . . . Gil we haven't DONE anything and we AREN'T going to do anything. You're the one acting like a love-sick teenager."

"I guess I am."

"A teenager?"

"No, lovesick."

"Giiiiiiil . . . don't you move any closer; I'm warning you. Giiiiiiiiiil . . . damn you!" Gil leaned closer and closer with every no. He was ready to pounce, just as Greg had in the lab. She had decided that these two men had morphed into horny teenagers all over again---and maybe, in the case of Greg, some had not {out-grown} the horny part. Hopefully Nick and Warrick were still normal---still sane.

"Gil, let me drive . . . right now damnit." Gil let out a sad sigh and he decided that he would more-likely-than-not be alone at home after work---again. Catherine got out of the cars, taking the keys with her, and slipped into the now un-occupied driver's seat. She started the car and turned around, heading back toward the lab.

About 15 minutes later, both passengers had reached their starting destination. Catherine stopped the car and pulled the keys out, stuffing them into her purse for safe-keeping until shift was over. She walked in front of Gil a few steps as they found their way through the building. Gil went to his office and Catherine decided that she would need a whole pot of coffee after the events of this shift.

Upon opening the door to the breakroom, she found only black-ness. The lights were shut-off . . . *goddamned day shift.* She reached over and flicked on the lights to reveal three half-naked bodies on the couch. First, there was Nick, shirtless and kissing the person next to him. That person happened to be Sara, also shirtless, clad only in a bra with a face resting on her chest. Of course, concluding the string of co-workers was Warrick, in boxers and boxers only, face buried into Sara's chest. All three looked up from their various positions and tried to cover themselves. Catherine screamed bloody murder and whipped her head away in disgust.

"Nick? Warrick? Sara? What in GOD'S NAME are you *DOING* in here?"

"uhmmmmm . . . . uhhhhh" Came from all three. No one knew what to do in this situation . . . but suddenly the confidant voice of Sara Sidle came from under two bodies.

"Well, we didn't have anything to do and everyone was gone so we . . . uhhh, well, we were fooling around." Catherine let out another shriek and let her hands down from her eyes, praying the coast was clear . . . it wasn't. No one had moved from their positions---nor had they stopped what they were doing . . . that poor breakroom sofa would never be the same.

Catherine's eyes shot open and darted around the room. She had fallen asleep . . . it was all a bad dream. *Thank god.* There were, however, four pairs of eyes glued on her: Nick, Sara, Warrick, and Gil were staring at her. Sara had an embarassed look on her face, both Nick and Warrick were grinning ear to ear, and Gil looked on in silence, a slight grin adorning his face. Catherine looked down at what she had been lying on . . . the breakroom sofa. She jumped sky-high off the sofa. Even if it was a dream, there was no way she was ever sitting on that thing again . . . too many bad memories of an awful nightmare.

"What are you two grinning about?" Nick and Warrick looked at each other and Nick spoke up.

"You talk in your sleep." If possible, their grins grew wider and Sara blushed even deeper. "Plus, you scream in your sleep, too. Must have been an awful nightmare . . . C'mon Sara, Warrick . . . we'll be on our way."

"Yea wonder if there are any sofas in any deserted rooms anywhere *else* in this place . . ." Warrick added to Nick's comment, laughing hysterically all the way down the hall. *Poor Sara.*

"Hey Gris . . . uhmmm how much did you all hear?"

"We all walked in at the beginning of the second act, I presume. Right after you told me to 'not move any closer' I believe. Well, I must say that alone had us all wondering but then you started going on about Nick and Sara and Warrick. It was quite an interesting situation . . . poor Sara started blushing uncontrollably and Both Nick and Warrick got a kick out of it all. I must say, I think they found the whole situation quite amusing." Catherine was embarassed--- completely embarassed. Not only was that the most insane dream she had ever had, but the whole team was there, listening to most of it.

"Well, what can I say? The full moon must be getting to me . . . I mean, you kissed me and Sara, Nick, and Warrick were ummmm in a compromising position here on the sofa. Weird, huh? I mean, that'll never happen . . ." She took it all in stride as she saw his eyes widen at the mention of the kiss. She could have so much fun with this . . .

"Yea, I guess not; I mean we all heard you complaining and screaming in your dreams so apparently nothing you went through was fun or uhmmmm pleasurable." He averted his glances around the room, doing everything to not meet her intent and playful gaze.

"Oh well, I wouldn't say everything wasn't," she stepped closer and closer to him with every word until she brushed up against him, saying, "pleasurable." She brushed her hips against his and gave him a seductive look when his eyes finally rested upon hers. She turned her body around and started away. She looked over her shoulder at him again, eyes burning in seduction.

"Lots of things were . . . to my liking---too bad none of it will happen again; we went so *far* . . ." Her eyes rolled up in happiness, stressing the 'far.' Gil closed his eyes in frustration and let his brain think of all the many things that could have transpired in that dirty, dirty brain of Catherine's.

Catherine stalked towards the breakroom door. Gil took few steps toward her, put his hand on the barely open door, and slammed it shut in front of her. He leaned on his arm as she turned around to face him. Surprise was playing itself out on her face as he pushed her closer to the closed door behind her. She went back as far as she could go until her back was pressed into the door but Gil kept moving closer to her. Soon enough, her breathing became rapid, matching his perfectly. Their lips were less than an inch apart when he began to speak.

"It might happen sooner than you think; how about we replay some of that dream . . . you know, the part that was uhmmmm . . . pleasurable." He closed his eyes and grinned uncontrollably. His lips came too slowly, so she reached herself up and took his lips in hers. This kiss was nothing like her dream, much more passionate and meaningful. Finding the need for air surpressing thier own passion, their lips broke apart. He rested his forehead against hers and they breathed in rapid unison.

"I just *love* full moons . . . don't you?" She winked at him and kissed him once again, hoping that when she pinched herself, she wouldn't wake up.

And she didn't.