Brass looked at the boy gently, but his dark eyes never left the suspect’s face, and although is voice was soft; there was an edge of wariness to it.

 
“Your human name?”

 
“Yes. The one I use here walking the earth. The one I accept that men call me when they do not know I am in disguise among them.” Galaz murmured with a hint of pride. Brass let that sink in a moment, then gently prodded.

 
“Assuming I’m one of those mere mortals who doesn’t recognize you . . .what would be your . . . nonhuman name?”

 
“I am Tuoni, son of Tlazolteotl.” The boy suddenly smiled, his expression bright and happy. The effect was startlingly creepy, given the setting and Brass fought the urge to lean back. Next to him, Sara and Simon both tensed a little, and Simon spoke first, his New Orleans accent a bit heavier as he stared at the boy.

 
“So you’re the son of an Aztec goddess then?” he commented very gently. Galaz nodded, his eyes back on the table surface.

 
“Yes. Tlazolteotl. My mother found me years ago and whispers to me in the night. She tells me that to be strong and join her I must pay her tribute, as a good son does. This world has forgotten the old gods, and the way they took care of the people and the lands. When I follow the old ways I honor her and give her strength. In due time I too, will be a god.”

 
“Okay, I think it’s clear a psych evaluation is priority one,” Brass muttered in an undertone to Sara, who gave the tiniest of nods. Next to her, Simon kept his eyes on the boy.

 
“So you’re following the old ways then. Going back to the true beliefs from the ancient times. And your . . . offerings?”

 
“Pure, all of them. From the hills and mountains and places sacred to my mother and her kind. They come north, seeking labor, but before this civilization defiles their souls I rescue them from that fate.” Galaz smiled dreamily. “I give them the highest honor a virgin could wish--a noble death of purity. Their hearts make my mother proud, and my body strong enough to begin the long process of change.”
 

“Oh God--” Sara rose, moving to the door of the interrogation room and through it, fighting the sharp rise of bile as the words sank in. Grissom turned from the two-way mirror and grabbed her by the forearms, gripping them tightly and Sara bleakly looked up at him, her eyes wet and wide. “He ate their hearts, Grissom-- Jesus, he--”
 

Grissom reeled her in, not giving a damn who might be walking by, or looking. Sara clung to him hard for a moment, taking a long deep moment of comfort from his hug. One of his hands was on the back of her neck, the other along her spine. “He’s mentally ill, Sara. Schizophrenic I’d guess, and yet capable of slipping through the cracks because some part of him understands how to blend in. Menial job, clean record, a face you’d never look at twice. He picks victims who have no one to miss them until it’s too late, victims who trust him until it’s too late. But we have him, Sara. It’s over.”
 

“It’s NOT over. Those bones have no names, Grissom. They need names, they need rest and out there, families need to know!” she whispered back urgently, pulling away to look him in the face. Grissom stared back, then reached up to brush away a strand of her hair from her forehead.
 

“Sara--that job could take months. Years. You’d have to work the databases of hundreds of Mexican police departments and even if we get names from Galaz, which I doubt will happen, it’s still a nearly impossible job, honey.”
 

“No it’s not,” she argued back. “The bone measurements Simon and I have compiled will give us the heights and the details of the facial structures will give us reconstructions to work with. I’ll do it on my time off, Grissom, on my weekends. Just--don’t say no. It’s important.”
 

He sighed. His visions of future weekends had included Sara without the skulls and clay, but looking into her eyes it was impossible to deny her this request. He slowly nodded, but something in his face made her mouth twist in a wry grin and she ducked out of his embrace hastily.
 

“Um, sorry--I didn’t mean to--” she stammered, suddenly realizing where they were. Grissom slid his hands down to catch her thin wrists, squeezing them lightly.
 

“I did. And yes, it’s important. I’d never say no to something that meant this much to you, Sara.” The simple honesty of his words made her look up at him gratefully, and in that moment, they smiled at each other, caught up in the strength and joy flowing between them.
 
 

 
 EPILOG
 
Eight months later, Grissom fumbled with the bow tie. He hated the damn things, could never follow the diagram and wished he could get away with a clip-on. But it was important to Sara, and since they both knew they’d probably never go through a ceremony like this again, he sighed and looked at the chart once more.
 

“Problems?”
 

“Yes. All this fuss so I can look like a headwaiter at a French restaurant,” he grumbled, but gently. Sara sailed over, her long gown whispering on the carpet as she peered over his shoulder.
 

“Should I call Catherine?” she teased.
 

“No, she’s out in the pews already--” Grissom commented, shooting a wry smile at Sara. “Care to give it a shot?”
 

Sara came around to face him, and reached for the ends of the tie, twisting and tucking them with efficient gestures. Grissom lifted an eyebrow at her; she shrugged.
 
“I’m good with my hands.”
 

“I know. How WELL I know--” he replied, a hint of pink over his face. Sara flashed a grin up at him, reckless and sweet as she glanced around the room at the choir robes and neatly stacked hymnals.
 

“So-- I have to get to the back of the church-- going to be all right here?”
 

“We’re alone--” he suggested with a smirk, checking his watch, “And since we’re still waiting for Father James--”
 

“No! Not in a church, and certainly not before the wedding--are you nuts?” she giggled back, even as she stroked the front of his tuxedo. Grissom sighed.
 

“Completely, to get talked into this. You and Simon ganged up on me. In fact, I could make a case that goes all the way back to the Bone Yard case--”
 

“You didn’t have to say yes, Grissom,” Sara pointed out reasonably, nuzzling his face as she stepped into his light embrace. He slid his hands along the silk of her dress and sighed happily. She looked utterly delectable, and he could smell the soft scent of Shalimar on her.

 
“Of course I did. If I’d refused, Simon would have pulled his famous ‘I’m not going to live forever’ speech and tapped into my guilt reservoir. Between your disappointment and his I’d be completely condemned.”
 

Sara laughed, and kissed him lightly. She scooped up her bouquet and stepped to the door, waving lightly before disappearing again. Grissom sighed, but happily this time. The sound of footsteps approached, and Simon walked into the room, his glance taking in Grissom with amusement.
 

“The priest is here, so it’s time to get this show on the road, Gil. You okay? Tie looks good.”
 

“Thanks.” Grissom glanced at his mentor affectionately. Simon still filled out a tux well, and the bright red rose on his lapel looked both jaunty and bright. Simon sighed and reached out a hand to Grissom, clapping him on the shoulder.
 

“Nervous?”
 

“Not me.” Grissom replied honestly, fishing in his pocket to make sure the ring was still there. Simon snorted a little.
 

“You were back when it was YOUR wedding.” He accused with a grin. Grissom’s mouth twitched at the recent memory, but he refused to be baited. Seeing it, Simon chuckled.
 

“And a damned good one it was. Come on, my beloved Holly and Mrs. Grissom waiting for us, and I’m certainly not getting any younger. I love romance, I surely do.”
 

And Grissom followed the groom out, smiling to himself as the opening strains of bridal processional rolled out through the church.
 

END