"Your hand isn't badly damaged, Mister Stokes, but you did break two of the small bones." The nurse informed Nick as she finished drying his cast. He flexed the fingers cautiously and was grateful to find that the pain was more than bearable.

"Yeah, not to mention your wall."

"Not a big deal. Everybody working in the ER tonight understands your motivation, believe me. You'll have to wear this for the next two weeks, but it should heal fine." She told him, gently turning his hand over and checking her work.

"Do you know if they've taken him upstairs yet?"

"A few minutes ago. Your friend went with him. She asked me to tell you that she'd be back down in a little while to let you know his room number."

"Have they scheduled his surgery yet?"

"That I don't know, but I can find out. Hang out here for a minute and get used to that cast. I'll be right back, okay?"

Nick nodded distractedly, studying his hand and flexing the fingers again. When someone stepped in a few minutes later, he looked up in anticipation, but it wasn't the nurse.

"Damn. Hey Gris."

"Nick. What happened?"

"Punched a wall. Twice. Go on, I know you wanna say it. I can see it in your face."

"Say what?"

"That it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done."

"Why restate the obvious? Any more information on Greg?"

"Yeah. That's why I punched the wall. The tox report said he was drugged. GHB."

"Any alcohol in his system?"

Nick frowned, kicking himself for not checking that. Realizing his friend had been so fundamentally betrayed had driven all other considerations out of his mind. He reached for the sheaf of papers beside him and searched them quickly, holding them in his injured hand and turning the pages with the other.

"Not a drop. No booze, no other drugs."

"I didn't expect there would be, but...."

"I didn't even think about it. He may be a little flaky, but he's the best at what he does and he loves doin' it. He'd never risk his job by drinkin' before he came on shift."

"I don't think so either. He's also a veteran at the clubs. He knows the rules."

"Never put your drink down and walk away. Yeah, he does.... God. You're sayin'...."

"Whoever did this was someone he trusted."

"But... he was found by the janitor *before* the club opened. So it's likely nothing happened there."

"Which means he was moved after he passed out. Since Greg can't help us just yet, it's up to us to find out his point of origin."

"Gris.... I'd feel like crap doin' that. He can't consent...."

"We'd do it for any other victim, Nick. Searching his apartment is just another step. It may lead us to who did this."

"He's right, Nicky." Catherine agreed, stepping in to join the other two. "I don't like it much either, but we have to. If he has a day runner or an address book, maybe he wrote something down.... I'll take any lead right now."

"No. What you'll take is eight hours of sleep." Grissom corrected her, touching her arm lightly. "You both need to rest. I'll stay until Sara and Warrick get here. You two go home."

"Gris..." Nick started to protest. His boss shut him down.

"You've done all you can and more than I should have asked of you. Go home."

Nick's expression said he wanted to ruin his good hand in the same manner he'd broken the other one.

"It's not right. We can't leave him alone...."

"He won't be."

"But you can't be in there with him." Catherine reminded him.

"I have a theory about that. I need to talk to the doctor before I test my hypothesis, but I'm hopeful."

"Okay. So, give. What's this theory?"

"It may not be all males that set him off, just ones he isn't familiar with. If even one of the rapists was a stranger to him, he'd consider all male strangers a threat."

"But faces and voices he knows might not trigger the extreme reaction. It makes sense." Catherine agreed.

"I'm glad you think so. Now go home, both of you and get some rest."

Nick chuckled wearily.

"That an order, boss-man?"

"I can make it one, if you like, but it's more like advice."

Nick sighed heavily before looking up at Grissom.

"Soon as the nurse gets back, I'll take it."

She returned just then, smiling gently as she handed Nick a short page of instructions.

"You probably know most of this, but I'm required to give it to you anyway."

Nick favored her with a small smile and recited the two most important parts of the litany an energetic, athletic child learns by heart.

"Don't get it wet, don't use anything too sharp to scratch underneath it. I remember. So when's Greg's surgery?"

"As soon as they can get everything ready and the surgical team arrives. Less than an hour, if it all goes as planned."

"It's that serious, then." Grissom asked tensely.

"I'm afraid so. The doctors don't want to wait much longer to repair the internal damage. Mr. Sanders is stable right now and there's no sign of infection yet, so it's a good time."

"That means he'll be asleep until tomorrow morning at least."

"Probably longer."

Gazing up at his boss, Nick could almost read what his next statement was going to be. He thought about fighting him, but his hand was beginning to ache faintly and he knew Catherine was wiped out, so he surrendered.

"You think we should *all* go home, right?" he asked Grissom.

"We can't do anymore good here."

"Maybe.... okay. But I'm comin' back soon as I wake up tomorrow."

"That's your choice, but I'd rather have you in the field helping us look for the men that did this to Greg."

"No. I already told Cath I can't risk that. When we find 'em my ancient history could get dragged up again. I don't want that clouding my judgment or... or makin' me do somethin' stupid that lets the SOB's walk."

"I understand. We'll talk more about it once you've gotten some sleep. C'mon. I'll drive you both home."

"I have my car..." Catherine began, but her sentence drifted into silence when a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her and she came very close to passing out. Nick was on his feet instantly and had one arm around her back and a hand on her elbow, supporting her weight until she recovered a little. "On second thought... I'll take you up on that offer."

"Good."

Somberly, the three friends trudged out to the parking lot side by side.

THE CRIME SCENE

"Okay. Yeah, that's probably for the best. Alright. Hey, he's got reason.... I know. I'll try, but no guarantees. Nick knows better than we do what he can and can't.... Okay. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Tonight? He's that bad off? Oh.... yeah, that sounds right. Room 521. Got it. We're about done here. See you back at work after you drop Nick and Cath off. Bye."

Warrick folded up his phone and stored it back in his pocket, gazing sadly at Sara as she approached him.

"Grissom?"

"Yeah. He says not to bother with the hospital tonight. He's takin' Catherine and Nick home to get some sleep and he'll meet us back at work."

"Not bother? Why?"

"They're doin' Greg's surgery tonight so he'll be out of it 'till sometime tomorrow."

"Is he okay? He's not going downhill, is he?" Sara asked anxiously.

"Nah. Actually he's pretty stable so the docs figured it was better to do it now instead of waiting. Look, I've been ready to jet for ten minutes. Let's get outta here, okay?"

Sara smiled and stared at Warrick curiously. "What?"

"I've never actually seen you anxious to get *outta* the field. Guess there's a first time for everything."

"Yeah, well the sooner we get this case cleaned up, the sooner Gris will let us in on Greg's."

"True. I want that. I wanna be the one who finds the one piece of evidence that locks up those pieces of garbage for the rest of their lives."

"You an' me an' the rest of CSI."

Sara laughed darkly.

"For once... I don't think I'll begrudge anybody else a little competitive spirit."

"Hell, there is a first time for everything." Warrick teased. Sara smacked him on the shoulder and shoved him lightly toward the SUV.

"You wanted to get going, so go."

1 HOUR LATER: TRACE

"You got something?" Warrick asked brusquely, striding into the lab.

"Kind of. I can't exactly tell you what the glass off your vic *is*, but I can tell you what it's *not*. It's not from a car. It's way too thin, and it isn't polarized. Maybe hand blown. Also, it's covered in... something. Looks like wax, but I can't be sure yet."

"Wax... okay, that's weird."

"Gets weirder. You've got three distinct colors of glass in the samples you brought me. Red, green and violet. The red and green are probably dead ends, but the violet might just get you somewhere. More difficult to create, not as commonly seen."

Warrick held still, thinking deeply, then looked at the tech again.

"When'll you know if the substance is wax or not?"

"Another half hour. Maybe a little more."

"I'll be here. Page me the minute you get the results."

"Will do. Hey.... is it true? Is Sanders really..."

"Yeah. He's gonna be okay after a while, but he was hurt pretty bad."

"Again? Damn. Not fair."

"My sentiments exactly."

45 MINUTES LATER

"Warrick. Warrick, wake up."

"Huh.. wha... What is it, Sara? Is Greg okay?"

"I haven't heard anything new. I woke you 'cause your pager's been wailing for ten minutes and you were out like a light."

"Oh.... yeah. Thanks." He said sheepishly, reaching to silence the offending object. He looked up from the device to see Grissom standing in the doorway to the break room.

"Is that from Trace?"

"Yeah. I told him to page me when he had the results on those glass fragments."

"Once you get that taken care of, both of you go home."

"That where you're heading?"

Gil merely looked at him in silence. "Right, I should know by now not to ask." Warrick commented with a wry smile as he rose to his feet. "You will get some sleep in the next twenty-four hours, right?"

"Probably."

Warrick shook his head and slid by his boss on his way to gather his test results. Sara leaned back against the wall, eyes on the floor and mind far from the spot where she stood. "You alright?"

"I passed alright a couple miles back. Right now I'm coming up on ' pissed enough to break bones with my bare hands '. "

Grissom studied her carefully.

"Your anger is justifiable. We're all fighting that right now, but you can't let it get in the way of your objectivity."

"It won't."

"Good. Nick's already trying to back out of the investigation. If I can't change his mind, I'll need your clear head and solid case-work even more. I need to know that you can put aside your emotions long enough to help me break this case..... to get justice for Greg."

Sara straightened up, hands rubbing up and down her arms as if an unpleasantly cool breeze had touched her skin. In Grissom's eyes she watched the worry and fear surface for a moment before he submerged them again, and she suddenly knew Warrick had been right; the emotions were as close to the surface for Gil as for the rest of them. He was simply far more practiced at shunting away everything but what was relevant in the moment in order to focus and see what others often missed. At the same time she admired the quality in him, she acknowledged a crumb of regret at the lack of it in herself.

"You got it. I won't let you down, boss."

"I never doubted that. Good-night, Sara."

"Night."

-----------------------------------

"Candle wax. So the glass was from..."

".... candle holders. That's the most likely answer anyway."

"Anything special about the wax?"

"Afraid not. It's typical commercial grade wax. It's sold in hobby stores and new age places all over the country to people who dip their own candles."

"They still exist?" Warrick replied, laughing slightly. "I thought that was strictly a Seventies thing."

"Are you kidding? The anti-tech, militia and back-to-God's-country demographic is threatening to become a majority. Candle making is more popular than ever."

"Hmmm. So if the wax is a dead-end, the glass is still the best lead to follow."

"I'd say so, yeah. If the candle holders were hand blown, like I suspect, the maker won't be hard to find. Anyone who can get violet has been at their craft for a long while. You're looking for a master." The tech informed him, handing Warrick the printed sheets containing the test results and his conclusions

"Thanks."

"No problem. Hey, have you heard when Greg can have visitors?"

"He's in surgery about now. He'll be out of it most of the morning tomorrow.... might not be a good idea to try an' see him for a couple days. He's been through a lot." Warrick fudged, too physically and emotionally drained to go through the full explanation of why no men were being allowed to see Greg.

"Yeah. I get that. Just... if you could keep us updated? It may not seem like it, but most of the night shift techs are a pretty tight group. Something like this happens to one of us.... we'll do anything we can to help."

"I'll see you get any news the minute after I do. Right now, I'm goin' home to bed. It's been a long, nasty night."

"I hear that. See you tomorrow night."

"Yeah... see you."

CATHERINE:

Two hours after being driven home, Catherine lay in bed, cursing a brain that simply would not take the hint that it was time to shut down. The all-too real images of Greg's injuries insisted on mixing with conjecture from her vivid imagination and the pairing was slowly driving her insane. She couldn't stop wondering what he'd gone through and whether the drugs would truly keep him from ever remembering the assault. His unconscious reaction to men made her think he remembered every moment, but all she'd heard and read about GHB seemed to say the opposite. On the other hand, none of the studies she'd seen had focused on men or male physiology.

Sighing, Catherine sat up and threw the covers off. How could she not sleep when she was so tired every bone in her body seemed to ache? Surrendering at last, she headed for the bathroom and the bottle of over-the-counter sleep aid she kept there but rarely used. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed a second time and brushed disheveled hair away from her face. She gazed a few seconds longer then drew half a glass of water and downed the pill.

Moving back into her bedroom, she stopped at the small stereo on her dresser and powered it up, lowering the volume on her favorite oldies station almost to inaudibility. Despite this, she still caught a few notes and a word or two as she collapsed into bed again. It was enough for her to recognize the song, which only brought more thoughts of Greg, and as she pulled the covers back over her, she began to softly weep.

*.... if the skies above you turn dark and full of clouds and that old North wind should begin to blow. Just keep your head together and call my name out loud, now, And soon I'll be knockin' upon your door.

You just call out my name,
and you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', oh yes I wi
ll, To see you again....*

GIL

Water dripping from his cheeks and forehead back into the men's room sink, Gil reached up blindly to the paper towel dispenser and retrieved two sheets. Once his face was sufficiently dry, he looked up and confronted himself in the mirror. What he saw made him wince internally, though little outward reaction was visible. He had never been overly vain about his appearance, or at least he would never admit to what vanity did exist, but he had to admit he vaguely regretted that he was beginning to look his age.

Turning away from depression inducing contemplations, he left the rest room and walked back to his office. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and wondering why he wasn't at home asleep. The thought process didn't take long to complete. Sleep led to dreams and his dreams were never pleasant experiences, therefore he stayed at work and he stayed awake. At least awake he could somewhat control his mind's ramblings and keep it from producing depraved pictures of what Greg *might* have gone through during his attack.

Moving into the room finally, Gil sank down into the chair behind his desk. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned forward and interlocked his hands on the desk-top. For the next few minutes, his face became mobile and expressive and his carefully controlled emotions were allowed a rare period of freedom as he quietly prayed for Greg's recovery. When he'd finished, his eyes slipped open again and the intense passion he considered a pre-requisite for prayer was tucked back into its hiding place.

Smiling lightly, he leaned sideways and touched the power button on the small stereo he kept in the office, re-starting the "Touched By An Angel" soundtrack CD he'd been listening to a few nights before. He was fully aware that if anyone who thought they knew him heard him playing this particular music, it would create confusion and unwanted questions, so he only played it on nights like this, when fear of sleep led to embracing paperwork and he felt sure he'd be uninterrupted for a while. The current track was one of his favorites and as the chorus began, he pulled a file in front of him, paging through it slowly, taking notes on a pad and tapping his foot in time to the beautiful, stirring melody.

* For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love. I'll be the witness in the silences when words are not enough. With every breath I breathe, I will give thanks to God above. For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love....*

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT:

"Nick?"

Startled out of dark, morose thoughts, Nick Stokes instinctively batted away the gentle hand on his shoulder and swiftly rose to his feet, sending his chair skittering toward the wall.

"Grissom. Hey... I'm so sorry. You caught me off-guard."

"No harm done. At least you struck with the un-casted hand."

"Yeah." Nick said, gazing briefly at his injury.

"Preoccupied.... or something else?" Gil asked as he retrieved the chair and both men sat down.

"Else... I guess. Wishin' I'd said no to the pain meds last night. They.... they make it hard to wake up."

"Nightmares."

"Nasty suckers, too. I haven't had these ones in... almost twelve years. It's funny how your memory kinda.... puts bad stuff in storage after a while, at least while you're awake. The colors get dimmer, details get fuzzy..... when you sleep, though, it comes back clear an' bright... sickening as the night it happened."

"Nicky..."

"Why does shit like this have to happen, Gris? An' always to sweet kids like Greg...."

"And you."

"I'm no kid." Nick sighed, sweeping his uninjured hand over his face.

"You were when you were assaulted. Greg will come back to the world eventually, Nick. When he does, he'll need someone who understands what he's feeling and thinking."

"Not if he's thinking what I was after... after it happened."

"Which was?"

"Verbatim? The way I remember it, there were two or three cops standin' around, and my first coherent thought was 'I wonder if I'm fast enough to grab one of their guns and blow my brains out before anybody can stop me?' "

Grissom dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, absorbing the frightening statement, then he glanced up again.

"I'm glad you suppressed the impulse. You're still not coming with us tonight?"

"Nah. I told you, I'd feel like I was violating him all over again."

"I understand, but this may be the only way for us to find out where he was last night, which could lead us to his rapists."

"I get that. I just.... can't. I'm gonna switch out with Warrick and take over the case he was workin' with Sara."

"He's brought you up to speed?"

"As of start of shift tonight."

After a deep breath and a few seconds of silence, Grissom nodded, rose and left the break-room. Nick followed a few minutes later, intending to hit the morgue for an update on the body, but his distraction caused him to literally bump into the person he least wanted to see.

"Sorry, Hodges."

"I doubt it." the other man grumbled. A smile soon broke out on his face, however. "Hey, how's heavy-metal boy, anyway?"

"What?"

"Sanders. I heard he ended up in the ER. Did his bong explode or was it his eardrums? I wouldn't be surprised if it was both simultaneously. Maybe the Hell's Angels beat him up for daring to listen to anything but techno...."

Silent, Nick turned to face Hodges squarely and expressed his displeasure by thrusting his cast into the other man's midsection. After a moment to appreciate the reaction, he used the cast to uppercut, then forcefully back-hand the irritant into submission. Hodges crashed into the wall then dropped to the floor, wheezing and bleeding from the mouth. Nick spat a few terse words, stepped over the inert form and continued on his way, shaking his hand and cursing under his breath.

"He was raped you ignorant, arrogant asshole! Stupid son of a bitch...."

Hearing the blows and the thump of someone hitting the ground, Sara came running from a nearby room and stopped dead at the sight of Hodges laid out in front of her.

"What the hell..."

"S... Stokes.... he hit me!"

"And your contribution was..."

"Nothing!"

"Uh-huh."

"I made some comment about... about Sanders. How was I sh'pposed to know wha' happened to 'im? Noone bovered to tell me!" he slurred, his words swiftly losing their form as his jaw swelled.

"Yeah... I can't understand why." She snapped, turning to walk away.

"Hey.... help me...."

"There's a first aid kit in the break-room. Go clean yourself up and quit blocking the hallway. Better do it soon, too. The janitors might recognize you for the garbage you are and toss you in the dumpster out back."

-----------------------------

"You know I sent the report up a while ago."

"I know. I skimmed it. Thought I'd come down and see if there's anything new that didn't make it in there."

"Not really. How's the hand? Looks like you ran the cast into something."

"Nothin' I regret..."

"Uh-hmm. Somebody make a ill-considered comment about Greg?" the other man asked, tension suddenly coloring his voice.

"Yeah.... how'd you..."

"You're generally good about holding back on your anger. Situation like this.... might be the only thing that could get you to react without thinking it through or counting to ten first. Is the cast badly damaged?"

"Nah....just a little crack. It'll be okay. So there's nothin' more recent on the post? Nothing I need to know before I go out and do more work at the scene?"

"As I said in the report, there was very little damage to the body, internal or external. If he did fall, it wasn't from very high up. No higher than the second story probably. Cause of death was a massive heart attack."

"Okay. Thanks."

"No problem...." the older man replied, turning away to answer the phone. Nick hung around in case it was about his case, but when the ME hung up, Nick wished he'd left when he had the chance. "Grissom and Brass. They want you upstairs, pronto."

Nick grimaced and swore softly.

"I shoulda run like the wind right after it happened...."

"Yeah, you should have. Hodges.... he'll see you in a cell. Good God man, are you insane?"

"No. Tired and pissed and scared for Greg.... not much difference, I guess."

"At least you won't be alone."

"What?"

"Sara found him in the hall and apparently she wasn't much kinder verbally than you were physically."

"Crap...." Nick said, turning to head back to the upper level.

THE HOSPITAL:

Gently brushing a few strands of hair off Greg's forehead, Catherine glanced at her watch and frowned. Having only had an hour or two with him, she hated that she had to go but she was already late for shift. If Grissom hadn't allowed her to join the team examining Greg's apartment, she might have called and said she wasn't coming in, but her eagerness to catch the young man's attackers was almost as strong as her desire to stay by his side. Leaning in to place a soft kiss on his brow, she smiled at Greg and gripped his hand.

"I have to leave now, sweetheart. The investigation's kicking into high gear tonight. We'll get whoever did this, kiddo, I promise. Don't give up, okay? You hang on as tight as you can. You're gonna be fine..... just fine. I'll see you soon."

As she moved to lay his hand back on the bed, Greg's palm curled slightly around hers, anchoring her to the visitor's chair. Catherine suddenly gasped, wanting to believe what she'd felt, but not daring to think it might be real.

{God... can it be? It's too soon.... and he's too young to be so strong. Just maybe.... C'mon Greg.... if you're there show me....}

The questioning rasp of her name forced from a dehydrated throat confirmed the evidence of her fingers and her expression was a strange mix of joy and sorrow as his eyes found hers.

"Cath?"

"I'm here, Greg. I'm right here.... you're alright. Thank God..."

"Everything hurts.... I'm thirsty...."

"I know... I know. We'll fix that in just a minute. Hang on..." she reassured him, reaching for and pressing the button that would summon help.

"Where... where am I?"

"In the hospital."

"Hospital... what...."

"Shhhh. Don't try to talk too much, yet, okay?" she advised, stroking his forehead and cheeks with her free hand to calm him. He still had a fierce claim on her other hand and she was determined not to make him relinquish it, but the nurses bustled in and she was gently ushered out into the hall, despite her protests.

Reluctantly suppressing an urge to rush back in and demand her right to stay with him no matter what, Catherine headed for the nearby bank of phones instead.

-------------------------------

"He is? That's excellent, Catherine. Right. We'll meet you at his apartment in half an hour. I know. I know, but you can't do anything there right now and you're needed.... Alright. Yes. Fine. Good-bye."

Nick and Brass both stared at Gil until he put the phone down and turned to them. They had heard the hope and relief in his voice and it had buoyed their failing spirits as well. His next words did that twice over. "Greg is conscious, coherent and talking, though not much of the latter just yet."

"Thank God..." Brass breathed. "I hated leaving like I did last night..."

"You had another case. There was no choice."

Nick slumped in his chair, both hands over his face as he absorbed the good news and struggled with his emotions. When he gazed at the other two again, his joy was tempered by being reminded why he was really there. "Greg's recovery is a wonderful thing, Nick, but you have more to think about than that right now."

"I know..."

"If Hodges decides to press charges you could be knee deep in cow-pies by this time tomorrow, Texas." Brass warned him.

"The little butt-wipe as much as admitted he goaded Nick into it." Sara interjected in defense of her colleague.

"You weren't there to hear the exchange."

"No, but..."

"And Nick, for some reason, won't tell us what Hodges said."

"There's a good reason for that."

"Which would be?"

"I'm embarrassed, okay? The guy was bein' a major jerk, like always, an' in the heat a'the moment.... I felt like I was standin' up for somebody who couldn't stand up for themselves."

"And in retrospect?"

"What he said sounds as stupid and childish as it actually was. I know it was wrong to punch him, damn it.... it just felt so *good*!"

"I'm sure it did, but you know how it works. Whoever gives us the full story first, with details, will likely be the one to get the benefit of the doubt. Just tell us what he said." Brass told him, smiling lightly.

Nick hesitated, a flush of renewed anger rising in his face, but he surrendered eventually.

"He.... he asked me how Greg was doing, except he called him "heavy metal boy", with that same sneer that always makes me wanna smack it off his face...."

45 MINUTES LATER:

Nick stood staring up at the apartment building, carefully studying the second floor windows while Sara did a quick re-examination of the area immediately around the crime scene. She didn't really believe the other investigators had missed anything, but it never hurt to be thorough and she also sensed that Nick needed a little space.

Glancing back and forth from the taped off area on the ground to the apartment balconies above, Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead with his good hand. As his partner for the night strolled up beside him she followed his gaze upwards.

"It's not that bad. Judging from where he ended up we've got at most three tenants to talk to."

"I know. It's not that. I've got a wicked headache comin' on.... an' I think I busted somethin' else under this dang cast."

"Dang? Did I just hear a touch of Texas-speak in there somewhere?" Sara chuckled in surprise.

"It happens more when I'm stressed." He admitted. "It'll probably get worse over the next few days."

Sara sobered instantly.

"Hey, he's aware and talking. That's a big improvement. For it to happen this soon just shows how strong he is."

"The explosion taught us that. He didn't have to be put through somethin' so much worse...."

"Nobody *put* him through it, Nick. Not in the cosmic sense you're thinking of, anyway. It happened. Shit does, you know? We endure."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the author of "My Fifteen Second Philosophy", Miss Sara Sidle...." Nick joked. She lightly shoved his head sideways and smiled at him.

"Funny. C'mon. We have potential suspects to interview."

GREG'S APARTMENT:

Catherine growled, blew out a puff of air and tossed down the day-runner she'd been paging through. Turning momentarily from the spot where he stood lightly sifting graphite dust over a bedroom doorknob, Grissom addressed her obvious annoyance.

"Nothing?"

"No. Except for a reminder to get groceries, Thursday is totally blank. There's not a damn thing in here that points to where he might have gone last night or why."

"Relax, Catherine. We've just gotten started. Big or small, directional arrows have a way of turning up when we need them."

She stared at him, briefly incredulous. Feeling her eyes on his back, he responded without letting her distract him from his work a second time. "What?"

"Directional arrows turning *up*.... did you mean to do that?"

He finished lifting and preserving the fingerprints then turned fully around to face her and flashed her a quick smile.

"Huh. No, actually. I don't think I could if I tried. It's the nature of moments like that to be spontaneous. You feel like taking the bathroom?"

Soothed somewhat by the familiarity of Grissom's logical thought processes, she returned the smile.

"Why not?"

An hour later, the team had amassed a good-sized collection of potential evidence, but had found not a trace of the tangible, pen- and-ink clues they had hoped to come away with. Snapping off her gloves, Catherine ran one hand through her hair and groaned.

"Damn it. This was a waste of time...."

"Not at all."

"We didn't really find anything, Gris." Warrick commented tiredly.

"Finding nothing is something. It means it's likely the attack didn't happen here."

"And where does that get us? We still don't know where it *did* happen."

Gil looked from one to the other.

"That's not the point. If the attack occurred elsewhere, it means Greg doesn't have to be afraid to come home."

Closing his kit, Gil strode out of the apartment to store the heavy box in his SUV. Catherine and Warrick traded numb looks.

"How did we not get that?" she asked quietly.

"We're so tired our brains are deep fried?"

"Possible.... I didn't think I was there yet."

"We're insensitive and obtuse?"

"Definitely not. As usual the truth is probably somewhere in the middle...." she replied, leaning on his shoulder as they left together.

AN HOUR LATER: THE APARTMENT BUILDING

Sara released a fatigued breath and quickly ran a hand through her hair.

"Last of the three."

"Yeah, an' it better bring us somethin', 'cause the other two were complete washouts." Nick replied.

"I don't know.... the woman in the last apartment was trying to scope out your ass pretty much the whole time we were in there."

"She was ninety-two years old!"

"Old doesn't mean dead, Nicky...." Sara giggled, grinning wickedly at him.

"Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you tryin' to keep my mind off... other stuff, but let's just finish this, okay? I need to get the paperwork done, go home an' grab a bottle of somethin' ice cold an' strong enough to kill brain cells on contact."

"Yeah... when this is over an' the bastards who raped Greg are behind bars.... I might join you. Long as you promise to stock enough mind eraser to last a couple days."

"Maybe.... you're probably right. Let's wait an' make it a team party. With a theme..."

"Blacking out can be fun?"

"That'll work. Though I can't see Gris drinking at all, never mind doin' it 'till he passes out."

"Trying to get him plastered could be another party all by itself..."

"Yeah. Can you see him after three or four cocktails?"

"Talking everybody's ear off." Sara conjectured, beginning to succumb to a bout of laughter as she visualized the scene.

"About bugs, most likely..."

"Nobody'd be able to eat...."

"Right, liquor only.... pigs in a blanket are out..." Nick added, fighting desperately not to let the mirth bubbling up inside him escape. "Okay... okay." he finally managed, swiping at his eyes. "I won't say I didn't need that really bad... but we have one more apartment to check."

"I guess we do." Sara responded, regaining control as well. "Let's get this over with, huh?" she said, snapping on gloves.

"Yeah.... let's." he said, doing the same just before strolling down the hall a few feet and knocking on the door. A moment later, the door opened a crack and a woman peered out through the gap allowed by the security chain.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Nick held his ID up so that the woman could see it.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab, ma'mm. We're investigating a suspicious death in the building. May we come in a have a quick look around?"

"Death? Oh.... of course. Wait just a minute..." she said, closing the door in order to release the chain. She then opened it again fully and allowed the pair inside.

"I don't know what I can tell you. I don't know half the people in this complex. I had no idea someone had died."

Sara moved immediately to the area in front of the balcony doors and crouched, closely examining the floor. Nick moved slowly around the living area, checking out several sets of shelves and the top of the small entertainment center.

"Ma'mm... do you live here alone?" he asked, switching his gaze from her to various items in the room.

"Actually, yes."

"How long have you been in this apartment, Miss..."

"Carstairs... Sheila Carstairs. I've been here about two years." She replied nervously, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

"This is beautiful." He commented, picking up a candle in a sunshine yellow glass cup and flashing her one of his patented charismatic smiles. "My girlfriend loves this kinda thing. Do you mind if I ask where you got it?"

"Oh... oh, not at all. Here. This is where I get all my candleholders. She's an incredible glass artist." The woman said, visibly relaxing. Moving to a desk by the door she retrieved a business card and brought it back, handing it to Nick. He looked for Sara, who was just coming back in from examining the balcony railing. As she returned to his side, he replaced the candle.

"Thank you, Miss Carstairs. I'll check her out. We all set, Sara?"

"Yeah. Thank you for letting us come in and look around, ma'mm."

"No problem. Good luck with your investigation."

Nick nodded and preceded Sara out. Once the door was shut and they were waiting at the elevator, he spoke quietly to her, head bowed and his good hand in his back pocket.

"So?"

"The floor just in front of the balcony was swept and washed recently, but I think I caught sight of a few shards she missed, pushed into the cracks along the baseboards. The railing's got signs of damage. Subtle, but they're visible if you know what to look for. You?"

"She's got the right kind of candle holders. Plus I spotted some cleaning she forgot to do."

"Dusting?"

"Oh yeah. I saw at least five places with no dust in them where it's obvious something used to be."

"So she's our suspect."

"Looks like. Now we go do a background check and find out what else she isn't telling us."

THE LAB: THIRTY MINUTES LATER

"Hang on.... where's that list of tenants again?"

Sara handed him a sheaf of stapled papers. "She was in 2-F, right?"

"Yeah."

"This lists the current tenants as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Carstairs. In the apartment since 1997."

"Lie number one and number two." Sara replied.

"And there're probably more we haven't dug out yet." Nick responded with mild satisfaction. "You wanna hit the computer or should I?"

"I'll take care of it. You go take a break. Get something to eat, rest the hand...."

"You're being nice to me. Should I be scared?"

"You performed a public service tonight. You deserve a reward." She commented, adjusting the computer chair in front of the glowing screen.

"That so-called public service could get me arrested."

"Maybe, but Hodges won't be able to talk for at least two weeks. I heard a rumor the rest of the shift is taking up a collection to buy you a plaque."

Nick grinned as an evil thought occurred to him.

"We should make it one of the ones with lots of spaces for the little brass rectangles. That way the next time somebody cleans his clock, we can put their name an' the date up there. Wonder if we could convince Gris to hang it in the lobby.... call it the "I Smacked Hodges And I'm Proud" hall of fame."

Sara laughed out loud.

"An' a display case off to the side.... to hold the doctor's reports.... and pictures of how bad he looked."

Nick joined her gleeful chuckles as he walked away, but part of her last statement stuck with him all the way to the break room. As he walked he repeated one word a few times, musing on how it could be accomplished:

"Pictures...."

END PART 7