From the window of the break room, Sara Sidle watched her supervisor as he made his way into the large, bright, modern, two story, rabbit warren that was the Las Vegas Criminalistics Bureau. The city lights were putting on a show behind him, painting the ink-black desert sky white, red, yellow, and orange. She quickly rushed across the room and out into hallway. She turned the left corner. Nick Stokes, her co-worker, almost slammed into her, his nose in a manila folder, an autopsy report, no doubt. Both were startled and relaxed in the same second.

"Hey! Watch it, cowboy," she sighed. Sara's brown eyes flickered, her brow furrowed. She offered a smile that showed a slight gap between her two front teeth. Her shoulder length dark brown hair was straight and the left side was tucked behind her ear. Today she sported a short sleeved powder blue scoop-necked stretch tee shirt and low-rise hipster jeans. Her picture ID badge was clipped to the left pocket. A pair of thick-soled black clogs made her seem taller than 5'8". She was thin and pretty, but she had a tomboy quality about her and was far from graceful. She got angry easily and could be stubborn. She was more comfortable working with a body than a living, breathing human being. At 34, she had never truly dated or had many friends- until the four people she now thought of as family- and her now ex-boyfriend Hank. Grissom handpicked her for his team after she graduated from Harvard, giving her a second chance. She was dedicated and very intelligent, a dangerous combination and one needed for their line of work. She had achieved CSI 2 in two years.

"Sorry, Sara," the charming 35 year old man smiled. "What's up?" he asked, a thick Dallas, Texas drawl prevalent. He lowered the folder to his side. Dressed in blue jeans and a tight black tee shirt, he looked more like a GQ model rather than an expert CSI. Sparkling blue eyes, crew cut brown hair, full lips, chiseled features and his gentleman's manners made him an instant hit with the ladies. In fact, he was just the opposite of Sara: he loved people in general and being around them. He was sincere and kind. He was the last of seven children, born to a happy couple and into law enforcement. Nick started out a cop on the beat, but transferred to the crime lab after three years. He was brilliant at what he did and loved his job. Recently, he had proven himself after handling his first solo case with ease. It had involved fake diamonds and a nasty secret. She watched him as he fished in his left pocket.

"Boss is here.He has company," she said, her smile holding a hint of mystery. He clipped his ID badge onto his shirt pocket and looked up at her, his eyes full of surprise. "Oh, she's a lady, all right," Sara assured her friend. Nick's eyes widened and filled with surprise. She nodded in the direction of the front of the building and they took off together down the hall. Grissom was switching his leather Coach briefcase to his left hand and pulling open the heavy glass and steel framed door just as they rounded the corner. His female companion entered first. She smiled. Nick seemed to deflate and folded his corded arms across his muscular chest. He gave Sara a playful but terrible scowl, which was returned as a satisfied smirk. It was only Detective Erin Conroy; they were merely exchanging a hello as they strolled up the walkway into the building. Erin went left and Grissom continued forward.

"Sara! Nick!" Gil Grissom called out, his famous crooked smile on his lips. That surprised them. He usually just launched into his questions or gave an order after a barely noticeable nod or a quick smile. He was boyishly handsome with crystal blue eyes and perfectly coifed wavy brown hair that had enough gray highlights to contradict his perpetual, eternal youth. He was making a typical Grissom fashion statement: long sleeved gray button down shirt, untucked of course, and black slacks that puddled at his ankles, as if unhemmed. His picture ID hung around his neck on a silver chain. He wore a pair of black leather loafers, no socks. He would have had sandals on were he off duty. He was 49 and 5'10." He took impeccable care of himself. He ate right, was always brushing his teeth, and walked wherever he could. His parents divorced when he was five. He'd built a wall around himself. His biggest fear was that someone would get to know him, love him. Worse, maybe he'd love her in return ... Catherine Willows, however, had found her way into his heart. There was a bit of the absentminded professor in him when it came to everyday life. He was thoughtful to a fault. He was always calm and collected. No one had ever heard him raise his voice to anyone about anything. He was both a friend and father figure to his mainly much younger colleagues. As a child, he would ride his bike on the beaches of Marina Del Ray, California, looking for dead animals to conduct autopsies on. The local police learned of his talents. He worked closely with them in their crime lab, becoming the youngest coroner in Los Angeles history when he was 22. He was a genius in every sense of the word, full of compassion, witty sayings, and a lust for learning, truth, and justice. With BS degrees in biology, anatomy, and criminal justice, he was a hard worker, achieving the coveted rank of CSI 3 after a mere year on the force. He had taken the Las Vegas Criminalistic Department from #14 to # 2 in the nation. He had given hundreds of speeches and seminars, written many dissertations. Now supervisor of the CSI department, graveyard shift, he enjoyed training and watching his students spread their wings. Revered for his nobility and natural skills, he instilled awe in everyone he met. His squad respects and idolizes him. He loved his job very much. It was the perfect mix of personality and profession. He used his intelligence to help people and vindicate the many victims he was entrusted with.

"Hey, Grissom," Nick said. The trio headed down the brightly-lit hallway, towards Grissom's office. On their way, Warrick Brown materialized from his office and appeared in the hall.

"Hello, Warrick," Grissom said.

Lanky and 6'5", the 35 year old Warrick was the only African-American on the squad as of now. Still wearing the same brown shirt and wrinkled chinos that he'd had on yesterday, it was apparent he had stumbled onto something. or not, as the case may be. His features were angular, his hair done in relaxed corn rolls and he sported a small goatee. He was a CSI 3 as well. The only member of the team to have been born and raised in Las Vegas, and had worked in the casinos and nightclubs in his younger days. He had become addicted to gambling and had gotten into trouble as a result. Grissom saw only his talent for forensics and gave him a second chance. He flashed a toothy grin, indicating he had good news. He nodded to Nick and Sara. They smiled at their friend.

"Hey, Gris. I need to see you ASAP," he said, breaking the relaxed mood.

"As a matter of fact, I was going to send an e-mail out to all of you to meet me in my office after shift starts tonight. We need to catch up with each other and discuss a few things." Sara visibly shuddered. "Apparently, my office is not a place for a respectable young woman," Grissom said, raising his eyebrows, cocking his head to the right as was his endearing habit.

"I'm not a respectable young woman. I'll be there," said a new voice from behind Grissom. He turned around. Grissom's eyes met Catherine Willow's. They exchanged a soft smirk, their eyes holding each others gaze.

Catherine's shoulder length, softly waved reddish-blonde hair framed her high-cheekboned face. Her blue-green eyes flashed. Gil thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She adjusted her picture ID necklace that had swung out of place. Her purple linen blouse, the top two buttons unbuttoned, and form-fitting black pants that flared from the knee were right in style and flattered her slight 104lb frame. She was 5'6", but her high-heeled black leather ankle boots gave her an extra two inches. She was 43 and a single mother to 9-year-old daughter Lindsey. Having Lindsey changed her from a cynic to an optimist. She loved Lindsey more than her own life. She was very good at her job and had easily reached CSI 3 in a year and a half. She loved puzzles. She let her instincts help her on cases more than the others did. She read people like a book and knew how to get what she wanted from them- especially a suspect. Despite herself, Catherine had ended up with a good life. She knew she could never live down her rocky, cocaine filled past as a stripper, but she had out lived it. Gil Grissom had saved her life- and Lindsey's- by giving her a second chance when he asked her to join his squad. She couldn't help but feel safe and excited when she was near him- on or off the clock. She loved him more than life itself.

They stood facing each other, only inches apart. The vibe they gave off was not lost on the other three. "I wish I had time to chat, but I've got to go. Sorry.See you later." she said quietly, as if just to Grissom. He nodded slightly. With that, Catherine hurried forward, brushing Grissoms shoulder as she passed him, forcing Sara, Nick, and Warrick to part like the Red Sea as she rushed between them. They watched as she disappeared around the corner. Grissom dropped his head, his chin resting on his chest. There was a fleeting moment of silence.

"I have a few things to do," Grissom said, raising his head, turning back around to face them. "Catherine's in charge during my absence. Be in my office in an hour," he said, "and have your reports ready for me, please. Warrick, you'll be first, I promise." The group nodded acknowledgement. Grissom moved off towards Captain Jim Brass' office, the others went about their separate ways.

As instructed, Nick, Sara, and Warrick arrived in Grissom's methodically cluttered office at 11PM. Apparently, Grissom had yet to discover the batteries in the BigMouth Billy Bass that hung above his door had worn out. Sara said what they were all thinking: "Thank God." They all rolled their eyes and smiled. They investigated their supervisor's office as if it were one of their crime scenes. They had all been in the windowless room a number of times, but there was so much to see; it was so interesting and seemed to change constantly.

His many diplomas and awards hung on the back wall. Charts and diagrams filled the blank spaces. Nick went to visit the tarantula he kept in a fish tank. The hairy, hand sized spider seemed to be asleep, but the two-headed scorpion scurried around its glass home when he knocked. Warrick looked over the enormous ant farm that stood in the corner and the glass tank full of his famous racing cockroaches that sat to the side of the desk. Aside from being one of the top criminalists in the country, Gil Grissom was also one of the best entomologists. Sara approached his meticulously organized desk that sat at a 45-degree angle in the center of the large room. She picked up the medical journal that lay there and flopped on the couch to peruse it. A bookcase held many anatomy and biology books. INSECT WORLD and NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC magazines were piled beside it on the floor. There was a smaller table in the corner that held a powerful microscope and its accessories. An x-ray light board hung on the wall behind that. The metal shelves lining the side wall were full of oddities: a pickled piglet, animal and human organs in formaldehyde filled jars, bugs on slides and in pitre dishes, chemical bottles, bags of cotton balls, q-tips, test tubes and boxes of white latex gloves. A Zenith boom box with CD, cassette tape and recording equipment sat on the end of the shelf. Warrick shared his passion for music and marveled at the collection of various opera, Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach CD's that was stacked beside it. They would often talk about sharps, flats and crescendoes....But that was different now. They had drifted apart as friends since the Phelps case.

"Hey, look here," Nick said, lifting a simply framed picture into his hand. "The proud papa shows off his brood." Sara set aside the magazine and stood up. She moved across the room. Warrick also came over to peer over his shoulder. The 5x7 picture showed the three of them, side by side, smiling, wearing their baby blue lab coats. It had been taken recently, the date on the corner read 2/13/03. They exchanged smiles, remembering him sneaking up on them and saying "Say cheese!" before clicking the shot with his high-tech camera. He had gotten a new lens. It had been done under the guise of practice, but it was obviously more than that. Nick purposely sat it on the desk rather than back on the shelf.

Warrick lifted into view a picture that already sat on the desk. It was a lovely candid photo of Catherine, wearing a low-cut black silk blouse, eyes ablaze with affectionate flirtation. She was a more than a willing subject, inviting the person behind the lens to click away with a seductive smile. She was sitting with her feet propped up on her desk, legs crossed at the ankles, elbows resting on the armrests. She was holding a silver Cross pen very suggestively in her hands. He had just taken that picture, it was the outfit she had on yesterday. Great care had been taken to preserve this image. It was focused perfectly, her image centered and full body. It was displayed prominately. This picture meant something to the photographer.

Suddenly, the subject of the picture appeared in the doorway. The three of them looked up in unison. Mommy had caught the children with their hands in the cookie jar before dinner. The culprits smiled sheepishly. Warrick gently placed the picture back in its place between the phone and HP laptop computer. She didn't seem to mind. Then again, maybe she hadn't even noticed anything.

"Pow-wow time," Catherine said, smiling, breaking the silence.

"Soon as Chief Lotsa Brains gets here," Nick said. With that, Sara moved from behind the desk to alight in a vinyl and metal frame chair that sat opposite the desk. Warrick moved to sit in the other, to her left.

"Ugh. Me call-um meeting to order," an obviously amused Gil Grissom said from the doorway, deepening his tenor voice, folding his arms, his eyes dancing. That was the Grissom they all knew and loved. They all smiled brightly and Catherine moved into the room, allowing him to enter his tee pee. Nick came from behind the desk and settled on the couch.. A look from Grissom told Nick he had nothing to fear. Catherine returned the bemused smirk he bestowed her as he passed by. She flopped onto the couch beside Nick. Grissom settled in his chair behind the desk, facing his team. In one fluid move, he picked up his oval shaped, wire frame glasses off the desk and put them on. Glancing at Sara, he said, "Let's get down to business, shall we?" That was also the Grissom they knew and loved. He looked to Warrick and nodded, silently telling him to begin, keeping his promise.

After an hour of discussion, they had caught each other up. Two cases closed, another going to trial. A pleased smile came over the supervisor's face. "Good work," he offered. They noticed his focus had settled behind them and followed suit, turning their attention to the doorway. "Hey, Greg," he smiled. He noticed the folder clutched tightly in his right hand. "What do you have for us?" he asked, his interest piqued.

Their 28-year-old comrade Greg Sanders had come with a report on his latest findings. "I hope I'm not interrupting, " he managed. "I just thought you'd want to know."

"It's OK. What's up?" Grissom asked again.

Greg was in total awe and always a bit nervous whenever he was around his boss. The fact that he stood taller than Grissom didn't seem to help. Recently, he had worked with him side by side on a fire ant infested body. It had gone very well. Grissom had complimented and encouraged him. That hadn't helped, either. It wasn't anything Grissom had ever done or said, quite the contrary, he was simply his hero. The day he got his acceptance letter to CSI was the greatest day of his life. He swallowed hard and ran an unsteady left hand through his spiky blonde-brown hair. His plain navy tee shirt, baggy jeans, and cheap Converse tennis shoes fit his style. The baby blue lab coat he was wearing was the only thing that distinguished him from his fellow 20-somethings. His brown eyes were cast to the floor, studying an invisible spot.

"Come in, Greg," Sara encouraged, "No one is going to bite you."

That brought a smile to his face. He wished Sara WOULD bite him... He glanced at her, then Warrick. He came further into the room. Nick stood up and moved across the room to his friend's side. They had developed a close bond. Nick took the folder from him and opened it to read. Greg looked up and met Grissoms anxious, encouraging stare. He relaxed immediately.

"The Davis case. The DNA from the glass and the DNA on the wire from the scene. Exact match. Cole is red handed." he said.

Grissoms eyes widened and he cocked his head. Greg knew that was a compliment. Nick walked across the room and handed the folder to Grissom. He opened it and began to read it over carefully.

After a few minutes, he signed it. Setting it aside for filing, he looked to Greg and said "Thank you."

"Good job," Sara offered.

"All in a days work, ma'am," Greg said in a mock Texas drawl, looking to Nick who swatted him playfully on the shoulder, a big grin on his face. "One question," he continued. "Can we get a Hummer?"

"A Hummer? " Grissom asked, sitting forward, sliding off his glasses. "You mean the military vehicle?" he asked. He tried not to let his interest show, but didn't do a very good job of it.

"Yeah.I got a buddy on the Miami squad. They drive a Hummer around," he shrugged. Both Warrick and Nick's mouth dropped open.

"You're kidding, right?" Warrick asked. Greg shook his head no.

"Those guys ride in a Hummer and we get Tahoe's?" Nick said, eyes wide. The three men began to talk excitedly about horsepower, pistons, and diodes. Catherine and Sara looked to each other and rolled their eyes. Everyone looked to a silent Grissom who was not amused. He leaned back in his chair.

"Think about it: We can't afford a Hummer on our budget and we're #2 in the nation. The Miami unit is only #15, do you think they'll have it for long?" he asked, glancing from man to man to man, raising his eyebrows. He paused, letting that sink in. The three men's eager smiles melted to frowns. He had sucked the air right out of them. Catherine giggled behind her elegant hands.

"Do you always have your dose of reality ready?" Sara asked her boss, trying not to bust out laughing at the expressions on her male co-workers faces.

Grissom blessed them with his most angelic smile. "Always," he nodded. "See you later Greg, we have more important things to discuss," he teased, ready to get back to the task at hand. The tiniest smirk was on his lips.

Greg threw up his hands in defeat. "Hey, never hurts to ask," he said, a huge smile spread over his face. Nick patted him on the back as he moved passed him and out into the hallway.

Catherine shrugged. "Nope, you can always try," she sympathized. Greg shoved his hands into his pockets, dropped his shoulders, and put on an exaggerated frown as he shuffled slowly down the hall, utterly dejected. They could always count on Greg to make them laugh. He began to whistle and bounce to his own music as he stylishly turned the corner and went out of sight.

The last bit of snickering died down and the group turned to their leader. "One last thing.Vacation.What's everyone up to?" He began typing expertly on his keyboard, bringing up his "VACATION" grid. Sara and Warrick would be around.

"I'm off to Texas the 22th, " Nick said proudly.

Grissom clicked on his mouse and then began typing again. "OK," he said, putting the last dot on his notes, and hitting "SAVE."

"Lindsey and I will be in town, " Catherine said. Her eyes locked with Grissoms. "You should cook dinner for us," she hinted, her face glowing, caught in a moment. "I bet you can make macaroni and cheese as well as you can scramble an egg and toast a bagel.It would be quite a feast," she smirked.

It had slipped out, a private thought too sweet to be kept silent. Coupled with her tone of voice, the true connotations were palpable. Maybe the others wouldn't read so much into it.And then, did it really matter if they did? They had enjoyed breakfast together on a many occasions, he cooking for her. He never acknowledged her compliments or ribbings when she called him Emeril.

Finally, Sara blinked. "Uh, see ya," she said and bolted down the hallway.

"There's a stack of paperwork calling my name," Nick said, taking Sara's cue. He turned on his heels, and left the room.

"Later," Warrick managed. He waited for some sort of response. Neither Catherine or Grissom had been able to find the ability to speak. He backed slowly out of the room and headed to his office two doors down.

They broke eye contact for the first time in minutes. She lowered her head to her chest and closed her eyes. He stood up and came from behind the desk. He stopped in front of her, their bodies almost touching. Feeling his warmth, she raised her head. She opened her eyes and they immediately met his.

"I'll even let you lick the spoon," he said softly. She smiled her radiant smile, which he returned with one of his own angelic grins. He moved passed her into the hallway. She turned and followed him, sighing deeply, relieved and happy.

"So.What's on the menu for tonight?" she asked, glancing up at him, rubbing her hands together, hungry for a new adventure. The others would be out in the field, it would be just the two of them in house tonight.

"Well," he began, glancing down at her, taking her cue, "for appetizers, we have a young John Doe." he said as they turned into Autopsy Room 2. They crossed the room and stood side by side on the left of the steel table where the body lay. ".Covered in a nice acid." He yanked the white sheet down, revealing the scarred, burned remnants of a face and chest. The arms and legs were in the same condition.

"Hmmm." she said, "Too boring."

"Ah, you are of discerning taste," he smirked, gently replacing the sheet. "May I offer you, then." he began, extending his arm, sweeping a little bow. She took the hint, and headed out the door, he right behind her. They turned into Autopsy Room 4, stopped to the right of the steel table, and looked down at the mass beneath the white sheet. ".A 30 year old female, brutally tenderized with hate." He swallowed hard as he pulled the sheet back, revealing a lovely blonde, covered with purple and blue bruises, and deep, gaping wounds around her neck, wrists, and ankles.

"Nah - I've ordered that before.Too sad," she said quietly, shaking her head. He again carefully replaced the white sheet.

"My, but the lady is finicky," he said, a playful edge to his voice. He glanced down at her. She glanced up at him.

"What else you got?" she asked bluntly after a pause.

He sighed deeply in mock exasperation. "Walk this way, please," he said. He clasped his hands behind his back and moved off. She clasped her hands behind her back and moved off, falling in step beside him. They stopped at the end of the steel table in Autopsy Room 5. Dr. Al Robbins turned to face them. He was sitting at the counter on the left side of the room, putting a final note on the autopsy report he was completing. Hopping off the metal stool, he slid his arm into the brace on his crutch and ambled across the room to their side. He was almost as tall as Grissom at 5'9" with a gray beard, round face and a knack for subtly hitting the nail on the head. He wore a black and white checkered button down, black slacks and a baby blue lab coat, which he had buttoned. He was the best Chief Medical Examiner Las Vegas ever had. At 55, he was the only married member of the squad AND the only one to have beaten Grissom at chess. Although he was older, Al held him in the highest regard. He saw his resistance to open up to anyone. He couldn't help but hope that he would settle down in Catherine's arms.

"What's your covered special of the day, my good man?" Grissom asked, smirking at his friend, keeping in character.

"I assure you, it's quite delicious," he said, catching onto their play with words. "And I can give you and your lovely lady friend a nice, quiet table for two.with a view." He whisked the white sheet away. Grissom cringed, not because of what he saw, but because this was not going to be an easy person to work with.

"Why, you have removed the head and hands. The skin is in terrible shape. I'd say this has been aging for.two months. This is a ratty establishment, it doesn't even look edible."

Catherine wondered how he could say that with a straight face. "Sometimes I wonder why we even bother to come here," she said. She and Gil exchanged amused glances and silently agreed to end their little word game.

In the end, they choose to work with the female in Room 4. Al had the headless victim for now. Greg could run the DNA samples from the acid burn victim tomorrow night. Any clues there may be as to who murdered the woman were fresh and could lead to a fast break. They pulled on their baby blue lab coats and white latex gloves. Gil put his glasses back on and Catherine pulled her hair back, tying it at the nape of her neck with an elastic that had Lindsey embroidered on it.

"Amazing what you find at the bottom of your bag when you have a daughter." she mused aloud, a bright smile in her voice.

Grissom smiled as he thought about young Lindsey Michelle Willows.

.Strong, confident and proud like her mother, she had "enough curiosity to kill a thousand cats." Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and Catherine's eyes, only blue, looked out from under her bangs. She was tall for her age and, like her mother, was dressed in the latest fashion: a pair of bell bottom jeans and a billowy, bell sleeved pink blouse. She warmed up to him quickly. There seemed to be an instant bond. She smiled Catherine's smile.

"Mommy says you play with bugs and eat them .She thinks it's nasty, but I think it's cool! Can I hold your spider?" She rushed over to the tarantula's glass home.

"Oh, I'm not so sure he or your mother would like that very much. He may get upset and bite you. I certainly don't want that to happen.But, if it's OK, maybe you can look after him when I go away for meetings. How about that?"

"Can I, mommy? PLEASE?" she squealed.

"Thanks, Gil," she muttered under her breath."We'll see, honey." She rushed over to the huge ant farm. "WOW! There are so many of them.and .Roaches.Why do they only come out at night?" she asked, pressing her face to the pane of glass. She turned to look at Grissom. Crossing the room, he got down on his knees beside her, putting himself on her level. He explained they liked moving around in secret because they knew most people didn't like them and they wanted food. He also explained that they were a special kind of roach that could go very fast and hissed when they were angry.

"Hiss? Like this?" she asked. She puckered up and began to blow air out of the large gap where her two front teeth should have been.

"Yep, just like that," he smiled. Catherine giggled. Gil began to hiss with her. Lindsey thought that was hysterical. Catherine watched them together. It brought a lump to her throat. He treated her with such respect. It was obvious they were fast friends, something no one had planned on.He flashed back to last year, Lindsey's 8th birthday. He got her an advanced chemistry set. He was so excited to give it to her. He told Catherine he'd had one at 6, almost burned the house down.

Then there was the time they spent the day together at the Bureau because Catherine had court and Mrs. Goodwin was ill. She marveled at the large building and said she liked knowing where her mommy worked. He gave her a blue labcoat and she rolled up the sleeves. She was unafraid and interested as she watched him perform an autopsy, standing right beside him on a stool. She even honestly learned a few things because when they were back in his office, she answered his questions as "they" read over the preliminary police report of another crime. She innocently pointed out something he'd missed and it solved the case. She felt proud and enjoyed herself, saying she felt like Mommy. As the day wound down, she said she was hungry. Catherine would be returning soon, and he wasn't about to feed the child another vending machine sandwich. They would go and eat once she got here. "Oh mommy, I had lots of fun. We cut up a body, I solved a case, and I'm hungry!" Catherine looked at Gil. He smiled his angelic smile. She smiled back and cringed as Lindsey offered her a rather large one to try. She moved into the office and settled on the floor between them. Catherine looked into Gil's eyes and simply smiled. She saw the joy in his heart and wasn't about to quash the magic he had with her daughter.

"We had tea and turkey sandwiches for lunch," he offered, hoping to get himself out of the proverbial doghouse. "I knew you'd be back soon, and..."

Next he drifted back to December 5th, her 9th birthday. Catherine had requested two days off and they had enjoyed a brief dinner together on the 4th while Lindsey was staying with a friend, but Gil got a call to the scene of a hit and run that eventually turned out to be much more. He went all out and got her a real microscope, an expensive one. He brought the brightly wrapped package to her at home after her party at Circus Circus. Catherine's eyes were as big as her daughters. The girl gently set aside her new Barbie doll dressed in a wedding gown that Catherine had hunted all over for and ignored everything else. She was more than excited about it, she couldn't get enough of it. He loved watching her with it. Catherine just looked at him.

"You're quite the gift giver," she mused. "All she talked about was that doll, I shed blood to get it, and you show up with this... Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy," she sneered playfully...

"She mimics me," Catherine said once to him.

"Then she'll be fine," he replied, smiling...

... Catherine returned him to the here and now, grounding him as she always did somehow. "Don't get too excited, OK?" she warned as she pulled the white sheet off, reveling her naked body in full. The halo began to glow around his head. He grinned his angelic grin, silently asking "Who? Me?"

Tenderly and thoroughly, they examined the woman, literally from top to bottom. He gently scraped under her fingernails. She gently pulled a hair to run through the DNA replicator that sat on the counter across the room. He pulled up a stool, scraped under her toenails, and examined her feet. She carefully washed her hands at the sink, slid her elegant hands into a fresh pair of latex gloves, and returned to the table. He used his penlight and looked at her eyes. Dilated as was normal. She used an otoscope and noticed nothing unusual in her ears. They took swabs from every area of her body, he silently deferring to her for the internal exam. As if they were tucking Lindsey into bed, they lifted her and rolled her over onto her stomach. There were burns and scars on her back, buttocks and down her legs. One wound caught his attention immediately. It was on her side, and still oozing. He leaned in closer, scrunched up his face.

"Look at this," he said. Moving close to his side, she began studying the oddly shaped puncture just under her rib cage on the left side. He watched her intently as she gingerly poked and prodded. She knew he was fixated on her every move, following her curves, but didn't acknowledge his concentration on her, letting the tension build.

"What do you think?" he asked after she straightened, obviously finished with her exam.

"I'm thinking stab.But it's not very deep. A sort of injection, maybe?" she mused, looking up at him.

"My thoughts exactly," he said, turning to her.

She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the right, imitating his endearing habit. The action was not lost on him. He flushed a bit, flattered, but said nothing as was usual for him when receiving a compliment. "Great minds think alike," she said proudly, happy she had followed his train of thought. In retrospect, he asked the question to make her think and look for herself, having already discovered the answer. He did that quite often to she, Nick, and Warrick. It was a great teaching tool. Sara, however, hated to play games and whined when he would do that, so he avoided it with her when he remembered to.

"They think for themselves," he added, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Nice work."

"Thank you," she nodded.

They both happened to look at the large round clock on the wall at the same time. It told them it was four in the morning.

"Time flies when you're having fun," he said as he slid the sheet back over the young woman. Their eyes met as he looked up while straightening.

"Gil, I can think of something MUCH more fun that we could be doing at this hour of the morning," she said, her voice soft, a seductive smile spreading on her lips. Her eyes began to glow. He smiled mischievously, obviously getting the connotation and liking the thought. She put her hand tenderly on his cheek. The energy from her touch surged through him. He drew in a sharp breath and raised his head. He slowly released his breath.

"Gil, this is where we kiss," she smirked. He smirked back, but didn't move. "Oh, hell, quit teasing me..." she sighed. She lunged forward, threw her arms around his neck and drew him to her. He stumbled back from the force of her impact, but they retained their balance. She slammed her lips against his. It was deep and passionate. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her slender waist, enfolding her gently in his embrace. They managed to pull apart a few minutes later. Both hearts were racing. Their eyes were locked. It was endearing that he was still so gentle and shy with her even after they had begun the physical part of their seemingly lifelong relationship. "Damn it...Is there anything you CAN'T do?" she asked, breathless, trying to make the question serious. He smirked.

He stopped her before it went any farther by pressing his lips to hers, this time tenderly and most expertly. She melted into his arms. He pulled away a few seconds later. "Nice try, Romeo...You think because you heat me up like that you're not gonna have to answer the question? Think again," she smirked. "We could get into a lot of real trouble. Am I worth losing your job?"

"I don't know... You keep talking," he smirked. The look in her eyes was one of amusement and seemed to say "Well, pardon me." He once again pressed his lips to hers. She pulled gently away, halting him yet again. It was a game. Foreplay. He loved every second. She was an old pro and he wanted her to call the shots, to be the boss, teach him everything about physical intimacy. She rested her hands on his chest. She felt his heart pounding in perfect rhythm with her own.

"Perhaps we should call it a night," he offered quietly.

"You're the boss," she smirked as they lifted their heads. Their eyes met.

"Nice of you to notice," he smiled. A quiet moment. There was no going back now.

"Wanna know why they called me Catherine the Great in my former profession?" she asked. He managed a nod. She grinned big and pressed herself closer against him. "You like roller coasters," she said, her smile full of mischief. "Prepare for the ride of your life," she said, her eyes blazing as she eased them towards the door so they could make a quick get away...

... The next night, Greg Sanders came bopping in, ready for action. He said hello to Sara who commented on his baggy khakis. Secretly, he wished she would give him a chance, he cared about her very much and always had. But, she was older and he knew she had had trouble with guys and was hesitant to date. His large, black nylon backpack was stuffed with his books, earphones, favorite rock CD's, and a copy of the latest issue of GAMING magazine. He slung it off his back and flopped it onto his seat. He sighed, grabbed up his new list of things to do, then whirled around towards his small, unorganized desk. There, on top of the files he had neglected to turn in, was perched a bright yellow, remote controlled Hummer. It wasn't the kids kind, either. This had speeds and was fully detailed. It was made of heavy metal and very expensive looking. He picked it up. There was no doubt in his mind where it came from. Gil Grissom never ceased to amaze him. As if on cue, Greg saw him passing by through the wide floor to ceiling glass window.

"Hey, boss," he called out. He rushed forward and hung out the doorway, grabbing onto the doorjamb. He watched him stop and turn to him. He had on a black v neck pullover and a pair of grey trousers. His glasses were on, briefcase swinging from his right hand.

"Good evening, Greg," he nodded. Greg noticed a change in him immediately.

Greg smiled warmly. Gil smiled back and flushed. Nothing needed to be said. Gil turned and continued on his journey to his office. Greg popped back into his DNA lab.

Nick pushed open the door and came into the building just as Catherine was crossing the lobby from Erin Conroy's office. They had been close friends before, but even tighter since Catherine had saved her life during the arrest of a stripper who murdered a fellow dancer. He immediately noticed the glow in her eyes and the change in her smile. He also couldn't help but notice her scoop neck red spandex top that hugged all of her voluptuous curves. She had on a pair of black leather pants that did likewise to her lower body. She wore black flats. Her arms were full of evidence bags and her tailored black leather coat, her black leather purse hung from her right shoulder. He rushed forward, eager to help her.

"Hey, Cat...Let me get those," he said as he reached to take the largest bag from her.

"Hey, Nicky. How are you?" she smiled, allowing him to ease her load.

"I'm fine. You look like a...Cat...that swallowed a canary. What up, hot mama?" he asked as they moved along down the hallway.

"Oh, I just...uh....finished up an ongoing case," she said, flashing him one of her radiant smiles, turning off the wattage just as quickly, trying to avoid any further questions from her dear friend and colleague. Nick didn't buy her act. They were too close.

"The Case of the Romantic Rendevous?"

She stopped short and gave him a playfully reprimanding look. "The only man in my life right now is the John Doe in Room #2. He's a real stiff..." He groaned while rolling his eyes and stopped beside her. She grabbed the bag back from him, turned into her office, and shut the door behind her with her right foot. He took the hint, but silently vowed to uncover the truth. He sighed and headed down the hallway, deciding to pay a visit to his #1 suspect in the theft of Catherine Willows' heart: Gil Grissom.

Gil had an open-door policy, literally and figuratively. The door was always open- even if it was closed on that rare occasion. Nick found him seated at his desk, intently reading a memo. Someone whose opinion and advice he valued had accused him of not reading them not to long ago and he had to admit she was right. He was trying hard to change that bad habit he'd gotten into.

"Evening, boss," he said, pressing his left shoulder to the doorjamb and folding his arms across his chest. As usual, it was a second before he was acknowledged. He was so intense about everything. When he was focused on something, everything else went away.

"Hello, Nick," he said, looking up at his friend.

Judging by the soft, happy glow in his eyes, he was guilty as charged. "Must be something in the water," Nick said after a moment, smiling an all knowing smile.

Gil bestowed him with his endearing head tilt. "What?" he asked, genuinely clueless as to what he meant by that.

Nick smirked, and shook his head. "Nothing...Look, I'm going to bust my ass tonight to get things taken care of before I take off. I'll get everything to you by morning. That OK?"

Gil nodded his approval. Warrick appeared beside Nick in the doorway. He had obviously shaved, showered and was now sporting a light blue button down, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a black mylar jacket. Warrick's eyes met Gil's and he had to admit he noticed a deep change in him. Gil nodded to him. Warrick nodded back.

"You smell better," Nick said to his best friend. He received a bemused look from the insulted and a smirk from their boss.

Sara, dressed in a white button down blouse and a pair of navy slacks with her clogs, came around the corner by Catherine's now open door. Seated behind her paper strewn desk that was settled so she faced the hallway, she was totally enraptured by her report, she didn't even notice her there in the doorway for a few moments... Enough time for Sara to realize her dear friend was a very changed woman. She was glowing, even in the harsh florescent light. For once, her office was simply organized instead of organized chaos. Her diplomas and awards hung together on the wall behind her. The most recent picture of Lindsey was displayed prominately as well. The two chairs that sat opposite her desk, usually full of a coat or two, bags, and whatever else, were empty. The blinds were open, allowing all that passed by a full view of her and her office.

"Someone got lucky," she smirked, folding her arms, leaning against the left side of the doorjamb and crossing her left leg over her right at the ankles.

Catherine whipped her head up and her eyes immediately met Sara's. "Yeah? Who?" she played, laying down the manilla folder. "If you got the goods, let's hear it, dish it out," she said, motioning for her to move into her office and take a seat, which she did. Sara settled back in the chair to the right. She was about to speak, when Catherine's eyes took on an undeniable glow and focused behind her. Turning around in the chair, she saw her boss standing in the doorway. His hands were in his pockets and he had the same gentle glow in his eyes- eyes that were locked with Catherine's. Sara got the feeling she was no longer in the room. There was no doubt about it now. Her long lived suspicions were verified.

"We got a live one," he said quietly, as if just to Catherine.

"Aren't they all?" Catherine asked, her voice soft and low, their eyes not breaking contact. Sara watched them both. When neither of them moved or showed signs of life, she cleared her throat. Still nothing.

"Hello?" she tried, "Earth to Grissom and Catherine... Let's roll, times-a-wastin'," she said, standing up and heading to the doorway.

"Not you, Sara," he said, his tone stopping the young woman in her tracks. "You're maxed out on overtime again. You and Nick can be chained to your desks together. He has paperwork to get finished before he leaves on vacation and you are not allowed out of this building unless you go to a spa or someplace like that," he warned, his voice full of stern sincerity and playful affection at the same time. Catherine and Sara looked at each other. Catherine had said those words to her the other day, the day when Sara tried to talk to him about her OT and he was in a rather untalkative mood. She had asked Catherine to talk to him for her. They exchanged smirks.

Catherine grabbed her coat and moved to his side. "Lead the way, Master," she said.

"After you, Grasshopper," he said. She brushed past him, their chests touching. They fell into unison stride as they moved down the hall.

"This isn't fair... I'm being held prisoner!" Sara called out from Catherine's doorway.

"Talk to your supervisor," Grissom called back without turning around.

"And don't ask me for the key," Catherine added. A pause. "Get some rest."

"I'm not tired..."

Catherine had heard those words the other day, too. She spread her three fingers on her right hand, forming the letter W, and raised them above her shoulder so Sara could see. "Whatever," she sighed.

Sara watched them disappear around the corner. She smiled brightly. She was no longer jealous of their love. They really were meant for each other.

They asked Warrick to come with them. He was more than eager and grabbed up his black jacket with FORENSICS emblazoned in white on the back. Gil filled them in as they gathered their gear. As they headed through the doors out into the cool, early morning air, Warrick called out "I'm driving,."

"Oh no you're not," Gil said. "The last time you drove to a scene, we were almost a scene ourselves. We don't need any speeding tickets, the insurance is bad enough," he said.

"Boys, boys...I'll drive," Catherine said. Gil handed her the keys.

"Shotgun!" Warrick called out. Gil gave him a look that was meant to be stern, but came across as amused. Still, Warrick knew he was relegated to the backseat. They settled their equipment in the far back, climbed up into the large black Chevy Tahoe and buckled up. Catherine started the engine then flipped on the lights and the dashboard siren. She pulled out of the parking spot. They eased out onto the highway. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Warrick couldn't help but want to say something to them. So he did. "Are we there yet?" he whined, imitating a child pestering his parents on a long trip.

He received two looks of amusement in the rear view mirror.

They got to the scene in good time. The place was swarming with black and whites, red and blue lights cutting into the ink black sky. There were uniforms everywhere.

"It looks like your ant farm," Catherine said under her breath. He smirked as their eyes met for an instant. She pulled up beside a squad car and shut the engine off. Gil was out of his belt and hopping down before she had the key out of the ignition. Like Lindsey at the toy store, she mused lovingly. She undid her own belt and hopped down. He had the back doors open and was lifting out the large silver fieldcase when she got to his side. They exchanged smiles, but said nothing. She hiked herself up onto the tailgate, reached out and slid the secondary case closer. She pulled the Maglite out, checked the batteries and stepped down. He pressed his right hand into the small of her back for support. He let his hand linger. Their eyes met. Warrick had been taking his own sweet time and came around the Tahoe just as they were about to speak. Warrick couldn't help but feel as if he'd intruded.

"When I said we didn't need speeding tickets, I was referring to driving," Gil said.

"Shut up, Gris," he fired back. They exchanged smirks. Catherine giggled. Gil pulled on his own black windbreaker emblazoned with FORENSICS SUPERVISOR in white on the back. They made sure their badges were fully visible.

"Come on, you two," she said. They strolled up to the familiar yellow POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. The uniforms began to leave. Police Detective James Brass came over to them.

Jim stood 5'9'. His graying brown hair and waistline were in competition to see which could disappear the fastest. So far, his hair was winning... He wore a tan suit with a tan and black stripped tie. Catherine turned him on. He felt he could relate to her since he had a daughter, too. His ex wife had custody of her and he rarely got to even speak with her on the phone. He was a strong man, tough as nails, but that hurt him deeply. He was a stand up police captain and a good man.

"I should really start investigating all of you. Wherever you are, there are dead bodies," he said. The three criminalists smiled. Brass liked the CSI's very much, especially Gil. They would often have a drink together. He considered him a good friend. He admired him immensely and had recently taken to paying closer attention to his "pontificating." Higher education, he thought. He filled them in on the preliminary findings and said that he would be on the radio if they needed him. One of his head uniforms waved a signal to him. Jim acknowledged him with a nod.

"All clear, Gil. Have at it."

"Thank you, Jim," he replied. They watched Brass walk away, slide into his Taurus and follow the last of his black and whites out.

Gil turned to Catherine and lifted the yellow banner. She bent and went under it. He followed her, letting the tape fall back into place.

"Hey!" Warrick barked. Catherine and Gil kept walking, ignoring his plea. He slipped under the tape rather than lifting it. He caught up to them and fell into step beside Gil.

"What's the matter, Warrick? Couldn't get it up?" Warrick growled, Gil stifled a giggle, and Catherine drew the number 1 in the air, accompanying it with a sizzling sound.

Their carefree air ended as they came upon their victims. They blocked it all out. They became different people. They each put on a pair of latex gloves and got to work. Warrick began a walk-through and carefully trained the beam of his Maglite along the foundation of the crumbling house as he moved slowly around the perimeter. Gil went to the male body and squatted beside it to get a closer look. His hand gripped the Maglite lightly as he passed it over the unfortunate man's torso.

"No defensive wounds," he noted outloud, keeping her informed of his findings.

Catherine squatted near the young woman's body and focused her maglight on her new case. There were signs of struggle near her body: drag marks and spatters of blood. The palms of her hands were scrapped and a couple of her nails were broken. She was fully clothed, however. "She put up one hell of a fight," she said, returning the favor.

"Good for her," Gil said, not looking up or making any other attempt at communication, but letting her know he heard her. He had busied himself by pulling out the camera from the field kit. He adjusted the lens and began to click away. After about six shots from every conceivable angle, he reached out and handed it to Catherine. She took pictures of the woman's body in the same manner.

Warrick rejoined them. "It's weird, the only thing we have is the bodies...Nothing here to go on." Warrick regretted having said that. Gil opened his mouth to speak.

"'There is always a clue'," Catherine and Warrick said in unison, their voices monotone and mocking. Gil cocked his head to the right. Catherine loved that habit of his. They began again from square one, starting form scratch. Nothing would go unnoticed this time.

Catherine watched Gil intently as he carefully inspected the dirt around the male victim. He felt her, and glanced up. Their eyes met and they exchanged longing smiles, but got right back to work.

She noticed something shiny catch in her flashlight beam. She took her tweezers and gingerly picked it up. A sliver of blood stained glass. She dropped it into a small manila envelope and tied it. She was pulling out her pen out to mark it when a gunshot pierced the silence. It was very close to her head. She dropped to the ground, the envelope flying out of her hand. Warrick rushed forward and plastered himself to the side of the dilapidated house. He was able to get to his gun, but was unable to return fire before a second shot rattled off. She caught sight of the muzzle flash in the darkness as a third shot went off. "Warrick, look out!" she yelled, alerting him in enough time for him to move right, avoiding the bullet that whizzed by his chest, saving his life. It flicked up dirt as it hit near his right foot.

She had no thoughts but Gil. She sprang to her feet and whirled around to him. "GIL!" she called out, her voice full of fear. A fourth shot went off. He didn't seem to have noticed anything had happened as he straightened and whirled around, only now becoming aware of the danger. A fifth and sixth shot went off. Warrick watched as Catherine fearlessly ran forward. She threw her arms around him, her momentum pulling him with her to the ground. They rolled three times, stopping with Catherine on top, Gil pressed safely between her and the ground. Their eyes locked. "Are you OK?" she asked, her voice strong and full of concern. She was completely focused on him. Nothing else mattered to her but his answer to her question. She felt him shaking beneath her.

"I'm fine..." he managed. She smiled and sighed. He began to ease up. She seemed unable to move. He had an odd feeling. Quickly, but gently, he righted them to a siting position. He watched her wince with each movement. He cradled her in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around her. "Cath?" he asked. He felt something wet and warm begin to trickle over his arm that was supporting her back. Both bullets had hit her, one on her left side, one in her abdomen. She was bleeding profusely, her blood soaking his slacks and shirt. He was more terrified than he had ever been in his life... If she didn't get help and now, she would not survive...And neither would he...It had happened so fast, in the blink of an eye.

"Gil..." she breathed.

"Shhh," he encouraged gently, "Try not to talk and lay still," he said quietly, trying not to let his terror show or his voice tremble and crack. When her eyes began to wonder and get heavy, he said gently, but firmly, "Look into my eyes." She did as she was told, and their eyes locked.

"That's not hard to do," she replied, a genuine smile spreading over her quivering lips, her voice weak and dry. She was playing at being brave, he felt that she was in terrible pain and very scared.

He smiled back and whispered, "You'll be fine... Stay with me."

Warrick had done all he could do to locate and pursue the shooter, but to no avail. He made his way over to their side, a bit out of breath from his run, putting out an "Officer down" alert out on the radio. It brought back memories of when he had to do that for Nick, when he had the stalker. He knelt down beside them. "Are you all right?" she asked him without looking away from Gil.

"Yes, Cath. Listen to Gris, OK?... Stay quiet and still..." Warrick told her gently, reaching out and brushing her hand. He swallowed hard and stood up, standing guard over them.

She put a death grip on his arm as a surge of pain washed over her, but made no sound. He laid his head on hers, wanting to take her pain into his own body.

Warrick had never seen anything like it. He wasn't sure what to do or say. It broke his heart watching the scene. In the distance, the peel of sirens grew louder. Warrick rushed to the edge of the property to lead them back, taking charge. It just so happened that Hank's rig was closest. When he realized who it was, he went white. His first thought was Sara. He knew he screwed up and still cared.... Warrick filed him in as the made their way back to them. Although relieved, he was still very upset. Like them, he put it aside and began to work. His partner followed his lead and they silently knelt beside them. Warrick watched Gil's eyes as they gently took her out of his arms. His raw, palpable emotion was real pain. Gil had been applying pressure to the wound on her left side, just under her rib cage, and when they moved her, she winced and moaned audibly for the first time as they tried to control the bleeding once again. Gil reacted by squeezing his eyes shut. They stabilized her for transport and had done all they could for now.

"Gil?" she managed, trying to reach out to him, searching for him.

"I'm here, Cath," he assured her, moving back into her view and close enough to allow her to touch him. He took her hand and squeezed it. She relaxed and closed her eyes with a smile. She had lost a lot of blood and was very weak and pale. The monitor they attached to her went off. It startled them all. Gil gasped. It was time to move. He was forced to let go of her hand when they lifted her onto the stretcher and tried not to notice the white sheet turning red even as they stood there. They raised the stretcher and quickly began wheeling her towards the ambulance. Gil followed, Warrick on his heels. They lifted her into the back of the ambulance. Gil grabbed onto the handle and was about to climb in. Hank's hand caught his arm. Gil released the grip and turned to him, afraid of what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry...I can't let you..." he said, his voice trailing off. Gil looked into the ambulance. Hank's partner was on the radio, sitting beside her. He couldn't hear what was being said. He looked back to Hank. When their eyes met, Hank saw his pain and wished there was more that he could for them. "...I'm sorry..." he offered, meaning it many different ways. Gil looked back to Catherine. Hank climbed in and then slammed the door, cutting her off from his view. That hurt and he drew in a sharp, ragged breath. Warrick put his hand on his right shoulder. As the ambulance's siren began to pierce the otherwise quiet morning, Gil looked to his young friend. He was lost and Warrick knew he needed him to be in control.

"Ok, Mario," Gil managed, rushing forward towards the Tahoe, Warrick's hand falling from his shoulder. "The keys..." he said, stopping short. "Catherine..."

"They're here, on the ground, with her evidence envelope. She..." He caught himself, and reached down to pick them up, leaving it at that. Gil was already buckled in when Warrick opened the door to climb in. He turned on the engine and siren at full blast. Warrick watched Gil blink often and fidget, gazing out at the passing lights and seeing nothing. He drew in ragged, short breaths. He kept looking at his hands that were stained crimson with her blood. They were visibly shaking as he held them out. He was in shock. Warrick told himself to watch him closely.

When they reached Desert Palm Hospital, they were greeted with blinding lights and hordes of press. Apparently, FBI special agent Rick Culpepper was involved. It was Gil's turn to growl as he noticed the tall, blond, trench coated man speaking with a reporter. Warrick pulled into a reserved spot just beside the door. Before he even had the engine off, Gil had the door open and was running into the front of the building, brushing a reporter out of his way. He hopped down himself and hurried in after him. They had Catherine at the entrance to the elevator to surgery. Gil's eyes met Hanks, silently pleading for answers. He looked away from Hank and down at Catherine's pale face. It was terrifying to see her like this- again. He reached out and tenderly laid his right hand on her clammy forehead. They had her heavily sedated.

"She made it this far," Hank offered. "We've got to get her upstairs and see exactly what we've got..." he explained, answering the unasked questions. "I called Sara. She and Nick are on their way..." The elevator binged. Hank and the surgeon on call pushed her into the elevator. "10th floor," Hank called as the doors closed in front of him...

... Meanwhile, Nick and Sara speed along in silence, Nick at the wheel. The twin black Tahoe's siren wailed, the blue and red light bouncing off everything it touched...Sara thought about the time she and Catherine were out in the middle of nowhere at a little drug store, canvassing a scene and the time they caught a snuff film ....Nick flashed back to the time they drag raced on an abandoned airstrip at 200+ miles and hour, using supped up Laser Tag equipment to verify the trajectory of a bullet and if the shot was even possible. She blew him off the road, making the shot, squealing to a stop. He could still see her silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, tossing her hair around, and then her helmet into the car, slamming the door. She raised her arms above her head in victory, making V's with her fingers.

"Thank you!" she called out like a rock and roll queen to her adoring fans, "Good night!" she concluded, pumping her arms down beside her...She was an amazing woman, a woman who could analyze a blood spatter pattern as well as she could braid a Barbie's hair with her beloved daughter on a lazy Sunday morning. They loved her.

"Nick, I gotta say something," Sara said, breaking the tormented silence, turning to her friend.

He glanced to her quickly, then back to the road.

"Grissom and Cath..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"I know, I'm not blind," he smirked. He saw her sad smile from the corner of his misty eye.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived in the driveway of the brightly light, medium sized hospital, Nick swung into the parking spot beside the other Tahoe and they hurried in the back way, avoiding everyone who was meandering about outside the front of the building. Not knowing what was happening was hurting them. They paused briefly at the front desk to ask what room they had her in, what her status was. They were told they could release no information to them, immediate family only. They learned she was in surgery on floor 10 by sneaking a peek at a room chart that was laying unguarded. When they found Warrick, he was seated, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced. He looked up and stood when he saw who it was.

"How is she?" Sara asked. "Where's Grissom?" Nick asked almost simultaneously.

Warrick said the doctors weren't talking yet and Grissom had given him the slip, he hadn't seen him in a while. "He's pretty shaken up. I think he's in shock...You know him, hasn't said a thing, wants to be alone, I guess," he said. They fell silent.... Warrick remembered the case where he and Catherine caught a teacher who'd murdered a high school bully and smiled warmly.

Gil sighed deeply as he turned on the hot water tap in the men's room just down the hall from the waiting area. He had been sitting in a chair gazing out over the city through the large window at the end of the hall. He finally had the strength to move. He knew he had to wash up. He was still shaking as he watched the water turn red then a lighter shade of pink until it ran clear. It was hard to know that was her blood he was washing away. He swallowed hard as he stared blankly at the large dark stain that spread across the lap area of his slacks. He hadn't looked at it until now. It was still damp. He shook away the thought. He yanked a paper towel from the holder and dried his hands, tossing the towel into the trash. Then he bent and splashed the warm water over his face. He gently massaged his temples and enjoyed the warmth. He turned off the water and grabbed another paper towel. He wiped off his face, tossing the towel into the trash. He wanted his toothbrush. As he focused, he was startled to discover Culpepper standing behind him. Their eyes met in the mirror. Why was HE here?

"Gil Grissom," Culpepper said, venom dripping.

He wasn't about to acknowledge him on any level. He didn't need or want his sarcastic tripe.

He moved passed him and tried to make it out the door, but Culpepper grabbed his arm with force, yanking him back towards him. Gil pulled his arm free and whirled to face him. It wasn't Gil Grissom who stood in front of him, it wasn't even someone Gil knew. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles white in a few seconds. Rick Culpepper took a step back from him. He was frightening at this moment, throwing Culpepper for a loop. He was always gentle and calm, even to him. He stood four inches taller and was younger, but he felt much smaller looking at him right now. He sensed that he was a bundle of nerves and emotion right now, buttons easily pushed. If he played his cards right, he could tarnish the reputation of the greatest criminalist in the country.

"Out of my way," Gil growled from the depths of his soul.

"Tisk, tisk...I'll let the attitude slide this time. You're worried about your little whore... For a man of such renowned intelligence and integrity, you have lousy taste in women...."

Gil was afraid of himself and the way he felt. He wanted to lash out at him and take him for all he was worth. If Nick hadn't cleared his throat, pulling his attention to him, it would not have been a pretty sight. Just as Gil always did, he stepped between them, smiling his big as the Texas sun smile, stopping the situation before it got out of hand. Warrick came into view beside him. They formed a protective wall in front of Gil. Culpepper now faced a small, well trained army. Culpepper turned and shoved the door open, once again defeated by the CSI's. Warrick and Nick turned to Gil. His head was bowed, chin resting on his chest. He looked up, clearly embarrassed, making eye contact with them both in turn.

"Thank you," was all he could manage. And with that, he hurried past his friends and headed out the door, the two younger men on his heels. They weren't fast enough, however, and once they appeared in the hall, they 'd lost him. They looked to each other and sighed.

Sara had four steaming cups of coffee ready when they returned to the waiting room.

"Where's Grissom?" she asked, handing a cup to Warrick who was more than ready for it.

Nick shrugged. "I'm thinking we should just let him be alone... He may get even more upset if we hound him," he said, reaching to pick up another of the white Styrofoam cups.

"Yeah, Nick, but I'm worried about him," Warrick said cryptically, lifting his cup to his lips.

"Hey, gang," came a familiar voice from behind them. They all turned to see captain Brass standing there in the entrance to the large waiting room, sympathy and guilt in his eyes. "Are you OK?" he asked turning to Warrick.

"I'm fine...Thanks to Catherine..." he answered, glancing down. Nick and Sara glanced to each other. Brass obviously got the hint they weren't going to attack him and moved into the room.

"Any news?" Brass asked. They all shook their heads. Brass sighed. "It's my fault, I..."

"No, Jim..." came a quiet but strong voice from behind them. The three with their backs to the hall entrance turned around. Gil stood there, his hands in his pockets. He was pale and obviously very weary, but he still had lots of fight in him. The three sighed of relief and smiled at him. Brass moved over to his friends side. "It's not your fault.," Gil told him.

"I told you it was clear... I trusted my men. I should have..." Brass tried.

"Jim, stop... You didn't mean for this to happen."

"I thought you would have my head..." He received reassuring gestures and nods. He was one of them, a member of the family.

They each found a little niche and settled in, keeping the others in view. Minutes seemed like hours, hours seemed like days.

Sara had come over and sat down next to her mentor. He was completely lost in thought, not even in this world. Gil suddenly realized that she was there and looked at her, their eyes met. She extended her right hand that held a steaming cup of coffee towards him with a closed mouth smile.

"Thought you could use this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you." He looked away from her and took a sip despite it's warmth. It became apparent that he was uninterested in making conversation with her as he drifted away again.

"Grissom," Sara said forcefully, bringing him back to life. He turned back to her. Their eyes met. He knew she had once had feelings for him, feelings he never returned, and that things had changed between them. They understood each other completely, they were cut from the same cloth. She was a female version of himself. He worried about her more than any of the others...except Catherine. Catherine would become the next supervisor, but something in all of them knew that Sara would one day become a legend in criminalistics.

"Sara, why don't you go see if you can help with an autopsy or something? Being motherly is not one of your strong points," he chided, not really meaning to. He looked away from her again. He didn't see her smirk.

"You're good at everything except being mean," she said softly. He looked back at her, a quizzical look in his sad eyes. "I know you're hurting.... I want you to know Nick, Warrick and I are hurting, too...We're here for her... And we're here for you.... We got your back if..."she started, then caught herself, almost afraid to go on. He tilted his head in his famous style. "If you need or want to go..." she began. He realized with horror she was staring at his blood stained cloths.

"I'm not leaving this hospital until she can walk out beside me..." he said in a voice that came from another place. His eyes had focused behind her. She turned, resting her hands on her knees.

Hank stood there. Sara rose and went over to him. They began to speak, but he was too far away to hear them. Hank put his arm around her and they moved off around the corner towards the cafeteria.

Gil was gripped with fear. Why didn't he come speak to him? Why wasn't anyone talking? Was she...? He stopped that thought before he finished it. He realized he was more alone than he had ever been in his life. He stood up and walked around, looking for Nick, Warrick, any familiar face. No one.

He couldn't hold back anymore. He slammed his back against the cold wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor as he lost all the strength in his legs. He buried his face in his trembling hands. His eyes stung with bitter tears. He never shed tears, not even as a boy caught in the middle of World War III. He simply hopped on his bike and rode as fast as he could go to as far away as he could get and stay for as long as he could. He couldn't run from this pain. The thought of losing her was more than he could bare. They had a whole life ahead of them- a life they may not get the chance to live. Her smile, the feel of her body against his... They had taught each other so much, but they still had so much more to learn. He calmed and managed to settle himself back on the couch. He got lost in memories he didn't realize they'd made until he faced her mortality and the thought of not having her in his life. Death meant nothing to him until now- until it threatened her... again.

"Grissom," Nick said gently as he touched his right shoulder, resting his hand there. Slightly startled, he looked up to his young friend. Their eyes met. Nick sat down next to him. He saw the questions in his eyes. Nick had no answers for them. He tried to speak, his voice catching in his throat. He cleared it and started again. "Cat is one tough cookie, boss... She's one of the strongest women I have ever met. She is full of grace and class and compassion...If any woman can make it through this, it's her...." he said. "When Kristi was killed..." No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than he regretted them, but he continued. "I blamed myself... This isn't your fault, you gotta know that," he said gently. He watched Gil turn away from him, swallowing hard.

"She... .She took bullets for me...She willingly and without hesitation saved my life, not thinking about her own... She saved Warrick, too..."

Nick shrugged. "She thinks of everyone else first... Especially you and Lindsey ... She saved me once. Remember? That lady with the letters and the mobster mummy?"

He nodded. "She is a good woman," he managed.

"Yes...She is...The best," Nick patted his shoulder and rose. He looked at his friend and boss. He was a good, strong man, but right now, he was simply a man who possibly lost the love of his life. Lindsey appeared followed by Mrs. Goodwin. Gil didn't remember calling them, but obviously he had... All attention focused on her as she stood silent and still. The young girl ran across the room and threw herself into Gil's arms. He pulled her close and realized she was sobbing and trembling. He eased her up onto his lap and began to rock her slightly.

"Why aren't you with her? You've saved her before, why aren't you helping her now? You make her feel better, you make her smile... She needs you.... I want you with her..." she managed. For a 9 year old, she was smart beyond her years and obviously grasped the severity of the situation.

"The doctors are helping her, Linds..." was all he could manage to say.

"YOU help her! I want YOU to help her... They should let YOU help her... I don't want the doctors to help her, I want YOU to help her!" she wailed. That broke his already shattered heart, and he began to openly cry with her, not caring who saw his raw emotion.

"I wish that I could be in there, I want to be in there to help her... I did all that I could do... They can't let me do anything right now, they won't let me," he managed.

"They're mean..." she said. She buried her face in his shoulder.

"No, Linds... They have to do their job," he said softly...

A couple hours passed in flash. Lindsey fell asleep in Gil's arms. They were unable to let each other go. Warrick went to join Jim in looking for clues at the scene and begin trying to piece together something, find anything on who tried to kill them. When she woke up, Nick took Lindsey to the children's rec room for a while. Sara had left.

Gil was again alone. He sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands. He had a horrible headache and removed his glasses to massage his temples. Less time than he thought passed by.

"Hey, boss..." came a quiet voice from behind him. He looked up. Greg stood there, a handful of roses in his hand. He looked as if he'd been crying . "How.... ?" he tried.

"They haven't said a thing yet," he said. Greg sat beside him on the couch. Greg was taken aback. The strong, smart man he revered more than anyone looked small and weak, as if he would be unable to tell you his name. Not one to be morbid or dwell, he thrust the flowers out to him.

"Here, tell her they're from you, she'll like them more," he tried. Gil smirked, then let his head drop, ignoring the lovely blooms. Then he turned fully to Greg. It was funny, he had never been more happy to see him. Since his help on a recent case involving a coin collection, he had discovered just how much he enjoyed him and his antics. The world- the Lab especially- would be a very dull place without Greg. He got the feeling Greg wanted to say something to him. Turned out he was right.

"Boss... I know it's really none of my business but... You and Catherine are great... I mean, hey- it's obvious... I hoped that you two kids would ... When I flirt with her, it's just..." Gil began to smile and chuckled a bit at his young friend.

"Greg, I know what you're trying to say... You approve of our relationship," he finished. "Thank you," he managed. They looked at each other fondly for a silent moment. Greg reached out and rested his hand on his right shoulder.

"I can't imagine how you're feeling..."

"Greg, I can't feel anything right now..." he said dryly.

Lindsey came rushing up to him, Nick in tow. Nick and Greg acknowledged each other. He managed a weak smile and hoisted her up onto his lap. "Hello," he said after a beat.

"Hey, " she said. "Let's go see mommy now..."

"We have to wait until the doctors say we can and that may be a while..." he said.

"I'm scared and I want to see mommy," she said.

"I do, too..." he began.

The doctor had come into the room and had been standing unnoticed behind Greg. "Are you the family of Catherine Willows?" he asked, starting the small group. They all turned around to face the middle aged, dark haired man, still dressed in traditional green scrubs.

"Yes," Gil managed, a huge sigh of relief escaping his now trembling lips. He stood up with Lindsey in his arms, settled on his left hip... Well, after all, they were family, weren't they? ... "How is she? NO ONE has said anything to me..."

"I'm sorry about that, but we took our time and wanted to be sure of everything before we approached you... She's doing surprisingly well..." Gil released the first breath he had taken since they had gotten here and fought the urge to collapse in a heap. He squeezed Lindsey close, she squeezed him back. Nick and Greg looked to each other and smiled. "Gil Grissom is it?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," Gil said, a bit shocked he knew his name. "Have we met before, doctor?"

"No, " he smiled. "But there's someone who wants to see you... She asked about you... You must be Lindsey," he said smiling, turning his attention to the young girl who played shy, laying her head on Gil's shoulder. "She asked me about you, too."

"Can we see her?" she asked.

"Well... I hate to say this, but not right now... Or at least all of you," he said, focusing on Gil, "I told her I could allow a few minutes for you to see her, but I'm afraid hospital protocol and the fact that she needs lots of rest prevents me from allowing much more right now ..." he explained. Gil swallowed hard and looked at Lindsey who had clearly gotten the message. Her lips began quivering.

"You can see her after school tomorrow, OK," he said gently. She understood but it didn't make it any easier. "Nick and Greg will take good care of you for a few minutes, then I'll take you home," he smiled. They squeezed their goodbye and she reluctantly let him put her down. Greg handed him the roses which he took this time. They watched Gil follow the doctor down the corridor.

The doctor gestured to the second door on the left side of the hall. Gil said "Thank you, doctor," but his eyes said much more. He extended his hand. The doctor shook it, smiled and moved off.

Gil drew in a deep breath and stepped into the doorway. The room was dimly lit. The flashing lights and monotone beeps and clinical smell frightened him, but not as much as seeing the strongest person he knew laying in a hospital bed that seemed to swallow her. He swallowed hard and fought off terrible memories seeing her like this brought back. Her reddish-blonde hair was splayed across the stark white pillow. Her eyes were closed, but they softly, slowly opened as she felt him near. They immediately met his. She managed a weak smile. He found the ability to move and crossed the room to lightly sit on the right side of the bed beside her. She swallowed lightly.

"Hey," he said, his voice shaky and low. He managed a heartfelt smile.

"Hey," she smiled, her own voice a mere horse whisper. A pause as they gazed at each other. "Those are pretty," she managed, referring to the roses. He had forgotten he had them in his hand.

"Oh," he said shyly, dropping his head, looking at them. "I..."

She licked her dry lips and swallowed gently. "Tell Greg thank you," she smirked. He was once again amazed at her instincts and smiled.

"How...?" he tried.

"First of all, you'd never give me or anyone flowers unless someone put the phone in your hand and made you dial," she said, bringing up a memory they both chose not to dwell on. "Second of all, there's a nice card that says "From Greg to the Cat." on the side here," she said, reaching out her hand, careful of her IV, to point it out. He caught her hand in mid action. Their eyes met again. She saw his pain and felt his hand trembling in hers. He was on the verge of tears. "Hey," she smiled softly. She reached up and laid her warm right hand his cheek. He closed his stinging eyes and laid his hand on top of hers, pressing it close. "No more tears, remember?"

"Cath... You almost died... I almost lost you... I'm going to feel that and cry about it for a long time," he said, opening his eyes which again immediately met hers. She watched a tear trickle down his left cheek. She reached up with her left hand and wiped it away.

"Ah, it's OK... I've got 7 lives left...You can't get rid of this Cat that easily," she said with a smile, hoping to ease his fears. To her delight, he did smile. They sat in silence for a moment or two, simply enjoying the feel of each others presence. Their eyes were locked and it was beautiful how well they could hear the others unspoken thoughts and know what they were feeling.

"I feel fine... A bit like Swiss cheese, maybe, but I'll live," she quipped.

He sniffled and smiled. "I like Swiss cheese," he said as if he'd just uttered the most profound thing anyone had ever spoken.

"When I'm feeling better, you can eat me..." she offered, her blue-green eyes flashing with all the life he thought was over just a short while ago. A seductive smile played weakly on her lips.

"Catherine... Such talk," he playfully chided, his voice and eyes both full of laughter, pure affection and more than willing acceptance of her sexy proposal. They sighed in unison as his smile once again melted away. He took two jagged breaths. She once again halted his tears with her words.

"Gil," she said, taking his face in her hands, "I'm still here... I'm not going anywhere for a very long time... I'm too tough and we've got too much left to do together," she mused. They smiled warmly and sat quiet for a moment or two.

"Thank you.... For saving me," he said. "I ..." he began.

"You don't have to thank me," she gently interrupted. "I'm just glad that I had the chance to return the favor... I'd do it again... I like saving your sorry ass... You gotta admit, I'm pretty good at it... I'm batting a 1000. Two for two... Makes me feel all Superwomany... Superwomany... Is that a word?"

"It is now," he chuckled. She smiled and he watched her body tense as she stifled a giggle. "Are you OK? Should I get the doctor?" he panicked, turning and making as if to hurry away. She got a death grip on his hand, keeping him seated. She was touched at his genuine fear and concern.

"Gil, stop... It just hurts to even think about laughing..." she smiled. He relaxed. They smiled at each other. A beat. "I'm cold and tired.," she sighed.

"Then I will keep you warm and let you sleep," he said gently. Standing, he laid the roses on the bedside table and sat back down, this time resting his back against the headboard. He snuggled as close as he could to her. She snuggled closer as he drew her into his arms tenderly so he didn't hurt her. She sighed deeply and closed her weary eyes yet again. He began to stroke her forehead, his thumb gently brushing over the thin but vivid scar from the time she was attacked on scene during the Haviland case. He shuddered at yet another horrible memory... The gash was hideous looking. He remembered doing a double take when she'd walked into the office, she tried to hide her face from him... She wiggled, bringing him out of his short reverie. He felt her body relaxing into his fully. "I am going to chain you to your desk..." he began, but broke off... No one could ever cage Catherine the Great, not even him. In fact, he'd given her wings to fly.

"Go on," she encouraged. "Sounds promising... And then what...?" she asked, turning his words around, eager to hear the rest of this sordid bedtime tale.

He chuckled, realizing what she'd meant and twisted his comment into. "You have a dirty mind, Cath..." he teased, giggling.

"Tell Linds I love her," she said as brightly as she could.

"I will," he assured her with a smile.

"I love you, too," she said, looking up at him.

"I love you with everything I am, Catherine..."

They fell silent, just feeling each other breathe. The nurse came in and was about to ask him to leave. She saw the sweet scene and just let them alone. When she was fully asleep, he reluctantly and gently laid her down. It was physically painful to have to leave her, especially like this. But he had Lindsey to look after, and she would be safe here. He brushed a kiss across her lips and slowly left the room.

Gathering a sleepy Lindsey into his arms, he turned to Greg. "She says thanks for the flowers."

"Anytime..." the young scientist smiled.

"You got everything. Need help to the Tahoe?" Nick asked.

"I think we're all set, Nick- Thanks, though..."

"Good night uncle Nick and uncle Greg," the young girl yawned. All three men couldn't help but smile at her.

"Good night, Lindsey," Nick said, patting her back.

"Don't let him put bedbugs in your bed," Greg advised his young friend.

"Oh he doesn't put bedbugs in my bed... He makes sure everything is perfect for me... " she smiled.

Nick and Greg knew that was true. Seeing their boss like this, a family man as it were, made them happy.

They walked out into the now early morning air. Gil settled Lindsey into her seat and waved goodbye to his friends as they pulled off in Greg's car. He walked around to the drivers side and climbed up. He sighed and thought how great it was to know that there really was going to be many more tomorrows...