“One of the truisms of justice is that the IQ of the average thief is roughly equivalent to my shoe size—“ Brass commented with satisfaction. He was looking over Nick’s shoulder at a grainy video on a computer screen. On it, a burly man with a shaved head was trying to punch in numbers on the keypad of an ATM and having no success. Nick grinned, his white teeth flashing.

“Probably trying Grissom’s birth date. Now hold on, he’s about to look up—“

On cue the man raised his gaze and glared towards the camera; Nick froze the image and hit the print button with a flourish. Brass smiled dangerously.

“Nice. Now we have a face.”

“Considering the tracers we’ve got out on the credit cards it’s only a matter of time. Heard Warrick found the wallet a few yards from the scene.”

“Yeah—he and Catherine are trying for prints. Might do it too—leather holds an impression—“ Brass grunted, staring down at the copier image in his hands. Nick sighed.

“It’s so weird—I mean we deal with crime all the time, you know—but when it happens to one of US, it just feels so—different. “

Hanging in that pause was the specter of Nigel Crane.

“It’s personal,” Brass acknowledged softly, “And personal is always a little bit dangerous, Nick. We do this by the book if we want the case done right.”

Without looking at him, Nick nodded.

 

***   ***   ***

 

“Man, I was SURE we’d get at least a partial—“ Warrick sighed. Catherine crossed her arms and shook her head.

“If the wallet had been in the road we might have, but all that morning condensation from the bushes--anyway, there might be something useable on the inside.”

They stood at one of the Trace lab tables looking down at the battered leather wallet resting on the surface. Warrick reached for it, his latex touch light as he flipped it open. Catherine stepped closer and leaned down.

“It’s amazing what a guy keeps in his wallet. Eddie had one of the biggest collections of bar receipts and unfamiliar phone numbers I’d ever seen in his—“ she muttered to Warrick, who was fishing along one of the slots.

“No cash, license or credit cards, but what have we here? North American Entomology Association,” he read off a laminated rectangle of cardboard. Catherine laughed softly and took it from him.

“Definitely Grissom, but I don’t think the perp would have touched it. What else?” she tried to couch her curiosity in professional tones, but Warrick grinned knowingly. He pulled out another piece of paper.

“He’s a contributing member of the Australian Royal Society of Lepidopterists. He’s got a blood donor card—woo, eight gallons so far, and a punch coupon for Baskin-Robbins. Looks like our Fearless Leader here is only three visits from a free single scoop cone.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft.

“I’m sure Grissom will be thrilled he won’t have to start over—anything else?”

Warrick hesitated, and then fished on the other side of the billfold, pulling out a small photograph.

“A picture of . . . his mom.”

The tone said it all, and Catherine spluttered into giggles. Warrick gave a pained sigh and looked over at her, but she couldn’t stop, her shoulders shaking slightly under the lab coat. Warrick tucked the little photo back.

“That would go a long way in explaining why there isn’t a rubber in there—“ she wheezed lightly. Warrick couldn’t fight his own grin at that, and rubbed his chin to hide it.

“Hey come on—for all we know he just needed to restock—-“

Catherine laughed again, and Warrick ignored it, plowing on.

“But something’s missing here.  Something MORE than the cards and cash--- something really, really Grissom---“ he frowned. His fingers touched the little hidden compartment deep down on the inside of the billfold lining, feeling something papery under it; Warrick hesitated, and then set the wallet on the table again.

Whatever secrets his boss had there would stay there, he decided firmly.

Catherine looked up, her eyes sharp and bright.

“Got it! His roller coaster pass.”

Warrick nodded, his mind racing.  “Oh yeah, the annual one for that new ride at the Stratosphere, the X Scream.  The magnetic strip on the back of the card will register when our perp tries to use it—“

“I’ll call Brass,” Catherine moved for the door decisively, hot on the trail. Warrick carefully bagged the wallet, sealing it up and feeling hopeful as he signed his name on the tag.

 

***   ***   ***

 

Sara looked over at her passenger out of the corner of her eye. He was slumped in the seat, one hand over his eyes, the other clutching the prescription bag.

“I’ll be fine, so please stop worrying.” Strained as his voice was, she could still hear the smile in it.

Sara flushed a little at being so obviously caught, which made Grissom laugh. He spoke up quietly.

“I know Nick, Catherine and Warrick are putting in overtime on my behalf and while I appreciate the thought, it’s not critical. My stolen wallet isn’t a major crime.”

“Yeah, well a hit and run is though, so just give us the chance to work the case. I’ll make you some soup and you can put your feet up and rest.”

They pulled in front of the townhouse; Grissom looked up in confusion for a moment, then shot a bleak look at Sara.

“I thought we were going home—“ he huskily whispered. She reached over and stroked his temple gently.

“Grissom, people are going to call and stop by—you have to be HERE, at least for a few days.”

His jaw tightened, and in the end he nodded with heavy reluctance as he started to undo his seatbelt.

“Not an auspicious beginning for our cohabitation.”

Sara felt a spike of shivery adrenaline run down her spine at his phrasing. She tried not to react, but it was hard not to smile to herself at the whole idea as she came around to his side of the car and took the prescription bag from him.

“We’re not cohabitating, Gris; we WERE on a trial run as roommates and we’ve just had a little setback, that’s all.”

He looked past her to the townhouse and gave a little discouraged sigh as he began to climb the steps up to the front door, keys jingling in his left hand.

“Well for the moment you’re here--that’s what counts.”

The living room was as big and empty looking as Sara remembered from her last visit a few years back. There were more magazines piled up on the coffee table, and one large sadly neglected rubber tree plant stood near the far windows. She set the bag down and wandered into the kitchen.

Chrome and tile greeted the eye, and sourly Sara wondered if Grissom realized it was the same sort of décor that Robbins had in his morgue. Only the few cheerful spots of color made the place a bit more comfortable: a wrought iron astrolabe, a cathedral postcard on the fridge, dishtowels in bright patterns—absently she filled a coffee cup with water and carried it over to the rubber tree plant, dumping it in the dry dirt, then made three more trips, swearing she could hear the thing gulp each time.

“Grissom? When was the last time you even thought about this plant?” Sara accused softly.

He wandered out, rubbing his eyes, looking sheepish.

“I can’t remember. Is it dead?”

“Close enough. And it needs more sun. And YOU need to be in bed so when the medication hits you can sleep for a while.”

He cocked his head, looking boyish and vulnerable, especially with his scraped face and bandaged fingers: Sara felt her chest tighten when he smiled at her.

“Only if you come with—“ he asked softly. She took his good hand and let him lead her down the dark hallway to the door at the end of it, barely aware of a few seascapes on the walls as they approached.

Grissom’s bedroom. Oh how she’d wondered about it. How it was decorated, what sort of sheets he had—

He pushed the door open and stepped in, pulling her along and she looked around, fascinated at this inner sanctum.

It was—very neutral, Sara realized. Heavy cream sheets, brown and tan blankets on a plain queen sized bed. The walls were off white, and the two nightstands a dark oak. Suddenly Grissom gave a little embarrassed noise and let his head drop; Sara looked at the small framed photo on the nightstand as a quick, hot flush raced up her skin.

“Oh my God—where did you get that?”

A younger version of herself smiled up out of the frame, stretched out on the sands of Lake Mead beach in a languid leggy pose, sunglasses parked on top of her head. Sara remembered the day. Her bathing suit had been too light a shade of bayberry, and the day too cold as her straining nipples cheerily verified. She turned to look at Grissom, who was as dark a red as she had ever seen him.

“Company picnic three years ago. Catherine took photos and asked me to get them developed, and when they came back I sort of—confiscated— that one.”

Sara picked up the framed photo and studied it critically.

“Jeez, I look like I’ve got two marshmallows glued to my boobs—this is obscene—“

“Sara—“ Grissom muttered, stepping around her and reaching for something else on the nightstand. She glanced down at the Kleenex and bit back a choked laugh.

“Oh my God. Grissom! This is TOTALLY freaking me out. You—“

“Honey—“ he warned helplessly, but she burst into giggles and fell back on the bed, letting the peal of laughter roll out of her. He sat beside her patiently until she managed to catch her breath, and his look was tenderly amused. He lifted his chin.

“So you know the worst about me then. Yes, I use your image to, ah, gratify my baser desires sometimes. I still do when we’re not together. I’ve taken you on business trips with me—“

“Even the one to Cold Springs?” Sara wanted to know. Grissom slowly nodded and she grinned, reaching a hand up to his bearded cheek. He turned to kiss her palm.

“Guilty. It was in one of the side pockets of my suitcase.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried—“ she teased.  “But it’s a hell of an ego trip. I’ve never been anyone’s security blanket before.”

Grissom took the photo from her hands and held it out, speaking softly.

“Sara, this picture has meant more to me than I can explain. You’re beautiful and happy and sexy and alive, and when I look at it and see you I can believe the world is a good place. I can fantasize we’re in Cancun or Bermuda on a lazy sex-filled vacation, or that we’re honeymooning in Hawaii. I see YOU in love with ME, even though that wasn’t the case when the photo was taken, and that thought has kept me sane for a very long time.”

She stared as his words hung in the air between them, heavy with implications she wasn’t sure she could deal with.

Not yet.

Carefully she sat up and stroked the side of his face once more.

“I think your meds are finally kicking in—“ she murmured with gentle deliberation. Grissom gave a little frown of annoyance, but finally sighed, rubbing his furry cheek in her hand.

“We’re an interesting pair, aren’t we? Any time we get even remotely close to something serious in this relationship both of us react in our most predictable ways.”

“Grissom—“ she interjected, her mahogany gaze pleading with his. He managed a tiny smile and closed his eyes, just resting against her palm, reminding Sara of a patient dog.

“—Play fair, damn it!” she pleaded. “You’re hurting and under the influence of drugs right now, babe. I’d rather talk about this later, when we’ll both remember it—“

Without opening his eyes he nodded, then leaned over and set the photo on the nightstand again.

“All right—“ he mumbled, and began to fumble with his shirt. Sara helped him pull it off, asking,

“Pajamas?”

“Hanging on the back of the bathroom door—“ he mumbled. The plastic splints on his fingers were making it hard for him to unbuckle his belt, but Sara knew better than to do it for him. She stepped into the bathroom and found the dark blue flannel pajamas, draping them over her arm. When she returned, Grissom was sitting in his boxers and socks, looking pale. She held out the sleepwear.

“Into these and into bed.”

He managed a lofty eyebrow lift, and Sara felt a sweet tingle of heat as she breathlessly added, “Please.”

God, even now, wounded and weary, he could still make her pulse jump.

He took them from her and pulled the bottoms on, then rolled over and stretched out on the bed, his big frame finally relaxing. Sara pulled the folded blanket from the foot and spread it over him neatly; Grissom patted the mattress on his right side.

“Come lie down—you need the rest as much as I do, Sara.”

“I can take the sofa,” she offered gently, but he shook his head.

“Here, please. Humor the cranky patient, nurse.”

She smiled, and he tossed the pajama top at her adding with a smirk of his own, “YOUR half, I believe.”

Quickly, she slipped out of her street wear and into the sinfully soft shirt, savoring the faint scent of Grissom on it. She scooted under the blanket and sighed contentedly the minute he curled around her spine, his arm strong and warm around her waist.

“Good,” he murmured.

“Good,” she agreed.

They slept.

 

***   ***   ***

 

Sara felt the soft stroking of a hand along her hip and smiled into the warm wall of Grissom’s chest. She spoke indistinctly, her voice a laughing purr.

“Gotta get up—“

“I am.”

“Ohhh, well yes you are. That’s pretty evident,” Sara gurgled, snuggling closer, hands moving industriously between their bodies. Grissom gave a pleasurable grunt, his lips on her forehead, moving into her hairline as he gave a gruff little cough.

“Sara, this may not be a good time to mention it, but—“

She heard the chagrin in his tone and tightened her grip; his cock stiffened further against her teasing fingers.

“You don’t have any, do you?”

“Not here, nnnnno,” he admitted in a low voice. At his confession, Sara nipped his chest; not hard, but he gave a low helpless moan as her teeth closed around a hard rivet of a nipple.

“Ou are FOE gonna wegwet dat.”

“I regret it already, trust me!” he confessed, his hands sliding around the curve of her bottom. Sara let go and licked the hard little stub, then moved to the other one with intent to kiss, but got sidetracked by what lay between them.

“Gris—oh babe, you didn’t tell me you were THIS banged up!” came her moan as she stared at the black and blue smudges along his chest. He glanced down and winced.

“It looks worse than it is, Sara, really. I’m fine.”

But she shook her head and tried to pull away, her expression vacillating between sympathy and frustration.

“Still— without condoms we’re going to have to wait anyway. Maybe we really ought to consider another method, especially if we’re going to be spending more time together.”

He gave a thoughtful nod, and in a quick move sat up, bracing his back against the headboard. Sara hesitated, but he patted his lap and she dutifully straddled it, feeling the warm happy ridge of his erection nestled under her against her panties. Grissom tried not to smirk.

“All right, let’s discuss options. I could get a vasectomy—“

“—No! No WAY, no chance in hell,” Sara objected firmly, her brows drawing together. Surprised at her vehemence, Grissom cocked his head and she pinkened a little, pressing on.

“I just don’t want you subjecting yourself to a surgical procedure, no matter how outpatient or routine people claim it is. Taking away your option is NOT an option, not in my book.”

Grissom paused.

“Truth to tell it wasn’t really my preferred choice, but I wanted you to know I HAVE considered it, Sara.” His voice was low and gentle; he stroked her hair. She gave a nod.

 "Considered, rejected. Let’s talk Pill. I was on a nice low dose prescription before,” Sara shifted a little, feeling a bit flushed. Although Grissom didn’t say anything, she could feel him throb against her; the tantalizing knowledge that only two thin layers of clothing lay between them made her squirmy.

“Any side effects? Problems?” he murmured, letting his hands slide down her back against the flannel. Sara paused and he waited until she confessed,

“I did forget a few times—when I was pulling doubles, and I didn’t get home in time for the next dose. I probably should have brought them with me, but even then—my purse is in the locker most of the time.“

Grissom chuckled, and hugged her close against his bare chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“We’ll set that one aside for the moment then—what else? Diaphragm?”

Sara laughed loudly.

“Messy, awkward and NOT my style, babe—Actually, I was thinking about those new patches they have now. I’d still be getting my hormone dosage on a steady basis and you could help me stick them on—“

“And peel them off—“ he replied softly, his hands gliding back down her flannel covered spine in a slow seductive caress.  Sara nodded, then gasped.

“It’s nearly two and you haven’t eaten anything—“ she chided herself.

“Would it be too much to hope I could start with a brunette?”

Sara snorted and climbed off his lap, her long legs unfolding as she stood to stretch; Grissom watched her with a sigh of regret as he reached for the blanket. Out in the kitchen, the phone rang and Sara quivered. He nodded, motioning for her to go and she sprinted away while he slowly got up and headed for the bathroom.

By the time he’d finished with his shower and wandered into the kitchen, a dressed and busy Sara had already started a pot of soup; a pair of empty cans sat on the counter. He studied them.

“Pea soup and Tomato soup?”

“Yeah, mixed together. You put in a little curry or chili powder and it’s really good. Mom serves it at the Inn that way,” she told him absently as she stirred. “The call was from Brass—they nailed the guy who hit you. Apparently he used your X Scream pass, and it registered with security at the hotel. Brass was waiting for him as he got off the ride.”

“What evidence?” Grissom frowned, looking in a cupboard and finding a box of croutons. A corner of Sara’s mouth went up.

“His grey Lexus had front end damage with paint scrapes matching the Tahoe, not that we needed it since he confessed.”

Grissom gave a nod as he opened the box, pouring a few out and crunching on them. Sara carefully poured the soup into two mugs and handed him one.

“Careful, it’s hot—“ she cautioned. He took it and reached for the two prescription bottles as Sara carried her soup over to the glass table and sat down.

They were halfway through their meal when the doorbell rang; Sara rose before he did and answered it.

Out on the welcome mat, Warrick and Catherine stood smiling. Warrick waved the baggie containing the wallet over his partner’s head; Catherine looked up at it, grinning.

“Thought we’d deliver this in person—“ she told Sara, who stepped back to let them in. Grissom smiled and took the baggie, signing the sheet of paper Catherine handed to him as well.

“There, all legal and in order. So—how’s the head?” as she spoke, she looked around the room, scanning it out of habit. Warrick smiled at Sara.

“Still a little sore—“ Grissom murmured, fishing his wallet out of the baggie and examining it. Warrick caught the tiny flash on his face as he opened the wallet wide, and cleared his throat, making Gris look up. In one understanding instant between them all was clear. Grissom flashed a quick smile of gratitude and Warrick looked away, amused that the unspoken bond of masculine solidarity between them was as solid as ever.

“Sorry we couldn’t get the money back—but your mom’s picture is safe—“ Catherine smirked. Grissom shot her a mild glare.

“And my pass?”

Guiltily Warrick and Catherine looked at each other; Sara laughed softly.

“It got confiscated, didn’t it? He’s going to have to go get a new one because the old one’s in evidence lockup.”

Catherine nodded; Warrick blinked.

“Hey Gris, you can have mine—“

Grissom looked a little hurt, but both Catherine and Sara laughed. The group moved to the table, and Grissom sat down, looking up at them.

“You didn’t have to do this—“ he began awkwardly, but Warrick shook his head as Catherine snorted, waving a hand at him.

“Please! We’ve got a reputation to maintain, and anyway, the case was classic textbook. I could have done it in my sleep.”

“I think I did—“ Warrick grumbled, but he smiled. Sara quietly picked up the soup mugs and cleared them to the kitchen while Catherine studied her retreating back.

“So Grissom-- why’s Sara on your emergency card now? I thought I was your contact—“ she demanded. He blinked at her for a moment, but Sara spoke up from the kitchen before he could reply.

“—Oh that-- it’s because you’ve got Lindsey to look out for.  Grissom told me the last thing he wanted was to have you scramble for a sitter along with everything else in an emergency call. So I told him I’d watch his back if he’d do the same for me—quid pro quo.” She paused, wiping the counter before adding,  “I mean after all, both of OUR nearest relatives are out of state---”

Catherine shifted her glance from her boss to her co-worker and nodded.

“God, the two of you are so damn practical—“

“It just made sense,” Grissom agreed, looking at his hands. Warrick sighed.

“Well let’s not make a habit of needing it, okay? I for one do NOT need the stress.”

Grissom managed a faint smile at that and sighed.

“None of us do. I’m grateful for what you guys did, but go home and get some rest. I’ll be in on Monday night—“ he held up a hand as Catherine shot him a sharp look, “—Doing paperwork for a day or two and then we can all get back to business.”

The firm tone reassured Catherine more than anything else; she rose and smiled at Grissom, running a hand over his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, the boss has spoken. Sara, do you need someone to spell you?”

She shrugged, managing a sardonic smile as she dried out a mug.

“Didn’t have much planned for the weekend anyway, so it’s cool.”

“Okay then. Call if you need a break,” Catherine insisted, picking up her purse and looking at Warrick. They said their goodbyes and left, walking down the front steps into the late afternoon sunshine. Catherine shook her head sadly.

“God, Warrick—do you ever think Grissom’s going to realize that she’s got a crush on him?”

Her companion gave a rueful shake of his head.

“Seems to be the only clue he’s never picked up.”

In the townhouse, Grissom picked up the wallet and carefully opened it, strong fingers gently prying the secret pocket deep within it, but touch told him what he wanted to know and he sighed with relief.

“Grissom?”

He looked up at Sara, who was peeking over his shoulder. She gave him bright look and he hesitated. Then, in a decisive move he pulled the paper from the pocket and slowly unfolded it between his fingers, holding it out. Sara glanced at the single sentence on it.

In the event of my death, tell Sara I loved her.