Sara woke an hour before her alarm was supposed to go off. The sky outside her bedroom window was transitioning between the dark blue and pink of sunset and the black of night. The pale moon that set low on the horizon had chased the sun from the sky signally the approaching graveyard shift. Looking at the clock Sara frowned realizing she had been gypped out of an extra hours worth of sleep.
            Feeling a tug at her waist Sara turned to look at the man lying next to her, her eyes misting as she recalled the broken, hurting man that had arrived at her door shortly after Nick had dropped her home. She had heard his keys in the lock and had rushed to open the door for him, throwing her arms around his neck as she held him close. He had hungrily kissed her, his arms crushing her trembling body to his shaking one, his heart hammering in staccato against his chest. He was a drowning man and she was his salvation.
            He had pulled away briefly, his left hand running through the hair at her temples as he tried to explain everything to her. “Sara,” he breathlessly whispered “I…I…” he stumbled, he was falling.
            “Shh,” Sara placed her index finger across his lips, she caught him.
            Grissom sighed unevenly, his face rolled heavenward as he soaked in the healing energy that was Sara. Placing his forehead on hers he whispered, “I need you.”
            Sara’s fingers raked gently through the unruly hair at his temples, meeting behind his head and pulled his lips forward. It was all Grissom needed. At the touch of her lips to his a white hot flash of passion engulfed them and all was forgotten as they walked the lover’s walk in unison, their bodies and lips never parting, to the bedroom.
            Sara twisted her body slowly, slightly, not wanting to wake him but wanting to watch him as he slept. In sleep the worry lines that creased his face all but disappeared, added with the sleep mussed curls of his hair he looked almost boyish in appearance causing her to smile softly. She fought the urge to brush a stray lock from his forehead knowing it would most likely wake him. As little sleep as he was allowing himself she knew that this was as healing as a balm to a burn.
            After witnessing the brutality that had been forced upon him, Sara could understand how sleep could be fleeting. Warrick had even told them all what Dr. Thoren had hypothesized, that Grissom may be phobic concerning sleep. To Sara, who spent all her free time with Grissom she could see the truth in it. He fought sleep with continuous motion and only seemed to succumb to it after they made love.
            Looking at him as he slept she could see that he had lost more weight since leaving the hospital and his eyes were ringed with slight circles, an obvious sign to his lack of sleep. The hospital staff had shaved his beard off but Sara could see that he had not shaved in the last couple of days, giving him a healthy five o’clock shadow. This only added to his look of exhaustion as he lay there softly breathing.
            Gently Sara eased herself from his slumbering embrace and made her way to the bathroom. As much as she wanted to just lie in bed with him she knew the clock would continue to tick away until they had to leave for work. Sneaking through the adjoining door she glanced at herself in the large vanity mirror and noted with a chuckle that she would have to wear something with a higher neckline than usual. The stubble on his chin had left a tell tale sign of the afternoon’s diversions.
            Sara closed the adjoining door half way to try and mute the sounds of the shower. She didn’t dare shut it completely for fear that Grissom might wake and disappear on her again. He was obviously very emotionally and mentally vulnerable at the moment and the last thing Sara wanted was for him to be alone in his present state. I’m sticking to you like glue, Babe, she thought as she stepped into the steaming warm waters of the shower.
            Not wanting to linger long in the shower Sara made quick work of it. Shutting the water off she stepped out onto the plush, white bath mat and toweled herself dry before grabbing her robe from its hook on the back of the bathroom door
            Exiting the bathroom Sara checked to see if she had woke Grissom. Sighing softly at his sleeping form she decided to let him sleep a little longer as she made something for them to eat before they had to leave for work. Deciding simple was the best way to go considering she had not been to the market in awhile; Sara toasted a couple of wheat bagels and proceeded to brew some coffee while she went through her mail. Oh look, I became a millionaire while I was gone, she thought as she threw the junk mail in her kitchen wastebasket.
            With the coffee made and the bagels ready Sara made her way to the bedroom with breakfast perched on top of a wooden bed tray. Entering the bedroom Sara became acutely aware that Grissom was no longer sleeping peacefully, more like fitfully. His back arched from the bed, his legs alternated between straight and stiff to pushing and kicking and his arms were bent at the elbow with his hands clenching and unclenching into half clawed fists. He ground the back of his head into the pillow, his face pinched into a mask of silent pain as his breaths gave in quick, shallow huffs.
            Sara placed the tray on the floor immediately and rushed to the side of the bed. Grabbing his wrists firmly in her hands she called to him in a firm but soothing voice. “Grissom, Gil…” Her strength was no match for his and she knew it. Her goal was to not get struck by his flailing arms and hands should he come awake swinging. It was a routine that she was slowly mastering, his nightmares becoming more frequent.
            “Gil, please… it’s okay, sweetheart… you’re safe, you’re safe,” leaning down and forward she placed a comforting kiss at his temple “you’re safe” she whispered again. Sara could feel the moment that the nightmare began to wane. Slowly his body began to relax a little bit at a time. His back relaxed and eased back to the mattress, his legs slowly ceased their agitated kicking and his arms gradually relaxed to lie on the bed next to his head, Sara’s hands following.
            Grissom’s haunted gaze opened and fell upon the worried visage of Sara hovering above him. He could still feel the heavy beat of his heart and the raw jagged edges left on his psyche as the demons were chased back into the shadows. Sara had become his talisman; she could always chase the devils from his mind. If only she could stop the cries too, Grissom thought in despair as he pulled her down to his chest in a fierce embrace.
            Sara whispered words of love and comfort at his ear as he softly drew circles onto her back with his fingertips. Raising herself up on to her elbows she caressed the side of his face where the faint white line of a scar was still visible. She watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it in a long sigh.
            “Are you alright?” Sara asked tenderly her fingertips softly stroking his face.
            Grissom’s brilliant gaze landed on her face. Their eyes locking as their souls spun in a synchronous orbit meant only for them. Energy bombarded them, molecules superheated, atoms split and the world slipped away leaving nothing but the heady sensation of being one together.
            Grissom pulled her across his body as he rolled to lean above her. His cobalt eyes searching her face for something, Sara did not know. Before she could ask him he lowered his lips to hers. It was the gentlest of lover’s kisses, a caress of lips that infused her with warmth both body and soul. His lips danced softly from her lips to follow her jaw to the place just under her ear. The feather soft touch set every nerve ending in her body alive causing her to tremble perceptively.
            Her arms snaked up around his neck letting out a soft groan as his lips turned their attention to the space where her shoulder met her neck. Grissom had made a science out of knowing her body. He knew each nerve fiber of her being, how to stroke it, how much pressure to apply and whether he should use his hands or his mouth. He could make her body hum with the slightest of touches but more than that he could set her entire being ablaze with the intensity of his gaze.
            Sara felt him raise his head from her neck and opened her dark languid eyes. Before she had met Grissom Sara had associated the color blue with the ocean- cool, cold, depending on the depth of color, maybe even lifeless. Grissom had changed that perception with the subtlety of a crashing tidal wave, washing away her defenses and battering her senses.
            He had measured and mitered his words to her for years making Sara curse the fact that she did not understand how to speak his language fluently. It wasn’t until she realized that Grissom did not talk from the heart with words but with looks. It was then that she recognized he could never fully remain silent. No matter how hard he tried he could not contain the passion that he kept hidden just behind his emotional battlements.
            Since that moment Sara had become fluent in Grissom and the intense blue gaze that he leveled at her spoke more volumes than the Library of Congress. I love you beyond reason, yet you are the reason that my heart beats and my body takes breath. Because of you I feel, I am whole I am substantial. I love you now, forever-always! She heard his words without him speaking a single one because they were the same words that sang softly from her heart each time she willingly drowned within his beautifully verbose eyes.
            Grissom gave a whisper of a smile knowing she understood; she could always hear him even when others stood in perplexity- Sara knew! He brought the tendril of damp, dark hair that his fingers had peen playing with to his lips before turning his attention to her lips. And for a space in time the world disappeared into the gray periphery as the energy that was Sara and Grissom went supernova and obliterated everything else.

            **************************************************************
           
            The night crew was assembled around the breakroom table waiting for the start of shift. Catherine sat at the head of the table casually flipping through an entertainment magazine, while Warrick and Nick were listening to Greg as he dreamt out load about the motorcycle he wanted. Warrick just shook his head in mild amusement as the youngest CSI talked animatedly about the various bikes he had seen while chasing leads with Sofia Curtis.
            “Do they make training wheels for motorcycles?” Warrick teased
            “Do you even know how to ride a motorcycle?” Nick asked taking a bite out of the apple he had been playing with.
            “No, not yet,” Greg replied only slightly dejected. “But like a good scientist I plan on doing my research first, and then get the proper equipment before finalizing my experiment.”
            “Get a starter bike first, Greg,” Grissom said walking into the breakroom with the night’s assignments in hand. If Grissom had been wearing a bandanna and his black vest hadn’t said forensics on it he might have passed for a biker. Sporting dark jeans and hiking style boots, a gray t-shirt and two days worth of dark stubble the man was definitely pulling off an untraditional Grissom look and putting off an aura of danger that was not normal for the CSI supervisor.
            “A starter bike?” Greg repeated hesitantly, more confused by Grissom’s appearance than his statement.
            “Yea,” Grissom looked up from the slips of paper he had been shuffling through. “Something to start out with and then graduate up. Maybe a 250, 400cc”
            Greg nodded and smiled. He was actually thankful that Grissom hadn’t shot down his idea of getting a motorcycle. Warrick and Nick liked to tease him like a little brother, whereas Grissom treated him more as a surrogate son that he was trying to imbue his knowledge to. To Grissom everything could be a learning experience and was always open to the possibilities.
            Sara came hustling in, slightly out of breath as she took the seat farthest from Grissom, next to Greg. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
            Grissom only spared her a quick glance not daring anymore. He could already feel the electricity in the air and did not trust himself to not give everything away, especially considering he was the reason why she was late, wearing casual attire with her hair still slightly damp from her second shower of the evening. He pinched his lips together in an attempt to hide the smirk that was trying to escape from his lips.
            “What is yours?” Greg asked. Grissom’s Ducati was sweet but he knew it would be too big for him.
            “My bike? 821cc but I started with a 250,” Grissom said in a tone that suggested the conversation was done for now. “Nick where are we at in the Lopez case?”
            “The cell block video finally showed up but from past experience I know the only video we will get is from the common areas,” Nick informed Grissom. “Still, Lopez was found in the commons area so…”
            Grissom nodded in understanding, watching Nick wash down the remnants of his apple with a swig of bottled water. “Alright, keep me informed,” he said slightly distracted by the bottle Nick placed on the table, the water swirling slowly, coiling like a sea serpent.
            “Greg, robbery at Club 49,” Grissom felt the ice cold energy in the middle of his chest pulsate as he hyper-focused on the task at hand. “Several of the private rooms were broke into and an undetermined amount of personal property stolen. Management wants to keep this under the radar but you’re in charge,” he leveled a steely gaze at the younger man “don’t let them push you around.”
            Greg nodded solemnly as he took the slip of paper from Grissom’s hand. Grissom had made him nervous as a lab tech and could still send a shiver of trepidation down his back now and then but Greg had also found that he had gained more confidence in the years since Grissom had promoted him to the field and he felt it was due to Grissom’s guidance. Grissom might argue that confidence comes with knowledge and Greg had learned a lot under Grissom’s tutelage.
            Nick followed Greg from the break room leaving Grissom with Sara and Catherine. “Where are we with the Karns case?” he asked, his eyes catching Brass through the glass separated the halls.
            “Boots Roy confirmed he is missing a motorcycle from his shop. Probably Abrams so Brass has an A.P.B. out on it,” Catherine supplied.
            “Hello campers,” Brass entered the room. The smirk on his face told the three CSIs he had something to relate to them.
            “Jim!” Grissom warned.           
            “Well, Sofia recently informed me that Las Vegas has a, less than legal, but thriving, motorbike racing ciruit,” Brass tilted his head to one side.
            “Like the street car circuit?” Sara asked looking between Brass and Catherine. Catherine and Nick had worked a murder that had involved street racers in hopped up imports and Sara wondered if it was the similar.
            “Same thing only two wheels and no roll cages,” Brass made a face indicating his thoughts on the sanity of the racers involved. “Apparently like any other sport in Vegas, it also has a well established betting system to go along with it.”
            Grissom’s brows were furrowed. Sofia had already relayed Abrams addiction to sports gambling. If he was into fast bikes as well, maybe one of these illegal races was a place to find the sadistic murderer. And if I can find him, I can find Markus Bathory!
That thought raged in Grissom’s mind like a flash fire, erupting outward from his cerebral cortex in a hot white flash that momentarily blinded Grissom to any other sensory input. With a screaming roar his white hot hatred turned cold and was sucked inward buried deep in his chest. It was at that moment, with a clarity born of truth that Grissom knew he wanted revenge more than he wanted justice. A realization that frightened him because of how empowering it made him feel.
           
            ****************************************************************

            To say that Grissom was not a happy man as he strode to Ecklie’s office was like saying the Earth was round- just plain stupid. Along with the assignment slips for his team Judy had also delivered a message that Ecklie had wanted to talk to him. Grissom had had very little use for political machinations before Bathory had kidnapped him, now the thought of dealing with the Ecklie’s dog and pony show grated on every nerve ending in his brain. He couldn’t figure out what it was that Ecklie wanted since they weren’t working any high profile cases, which always brought the man out like rain and worms, but Grissom was certain he wouldn’t appreciate it.
            Normally Ecklie was long gone when his shift started a perk to working nights, management was gone, but according to the note he received from Judy Ecklie was going to be in his office. Walking through the outer office that was vacant, Grissom approached the open door and knocked.
            Conrad Ecklie looked from the television screen to his open office door and motioned for Grissom to enter. Grissom couldn’t hide the lopsided grin as he noted the episode of Quincyplaying on the glassy screen before Ecklie clicked the remote and the screen went black.
            “Gil,” Ecklie announced rotating his chair forward. “How have you been? I’ve been tied up with paperwork but I wanted to touch base,” he gestured for Grissom to take one of the seats in front of his desk “and see how everything was going.”
            Grissom decided not to fight it and just took the offered chair. Grissom could sense the eddy in the room, the hidden reason that Ecklie had called him here. Not wanting to wait for the submerged vortex to suck him in unaware Grissom sailed head on.
            “What do you want Conrad?” Grissom asked. Normally he might have tried to soften his words with a slight smile or a hint of amusement in his voice but Grissom was in no mood for games.
            Ecklie seemed momentarily startled by his directness. He was use to playing politics and speaking in innuendos. He knew Grissom had little patience for the game but had usually played grudgingly- most of the time. There was no playing at polite politics this time.
            “Okay,” Ecklie said taking a sip of the coffee sitting on his desk “It has been suggested to me that maybe you should…” he hesitated as he noted the intensity at which Grissom watched him. “Umm…” he’d lost his train of thought “Oh, yes, counseling.”
            Grissom tilted his head to one side and seemed almost menacing as he glared at the administrator. Why am I thinking of the revolver in my desk? Ecklie thought as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and felt the nearly forgotten sensation of nervous electricity generated by fear. Whatever notions he had had about Gil Grissom being a pacifist, science nerd quickly disappeared in the icy glare that battered and dissolved his sense of calm.
            “Who?” Grissom ground out through clenched teeth.
            Ecklie bounced in his seat trying to make himself a more imposing figure. “Umm, well, HR actually,” Ecklier tried not to stammer but had failed miserably.
            Grissom squinted in a look that said he found this to be less than believable.
            “Yes, even though your ordeal was not the usual traumatic incident like a shooting, HR says it is a Trauma Incident and that counseling is required.” Ecklie was never so happy to shut up. Of course now he was becoming nervous over the silence as Grissom continued to just stare at him.
            “Fine,” Grissom stated coming to his feet “is that it?”
            Conrad Ecklie was again surprised by the man’s abruptness. “Yes, you’ll have to do the usual hours of counseling and have to meet with me at the end of that to finish up the required paperwork.
            Paperwork! Grissom sneered before turning on his heel and leaving the man to his office. Paperwork, counseling, meetings! Grissom marched quickly through the halls. I’m paid to solve crimes not cast myself on the altar of bureaucracy! He’d leave that martyrdom to the Ecklies of the world.
            Grissom had a full head of steam building behind the cold veneer he was working hard to project. There were big black holes in his memory that matched the ones that were perforating his soul but he was a good investigator and he could smell a hidden hand when one was present. In all likelihood this was Catherine butting her nose into his business, spurred on by Sara and her constant worry.
            Well Ecklie can take his counseling and choke on it! I have more important business to deal with!
Spotting Sofia entering the building as he was leaving, Grissom called out.
            “Sofia!”
            Sofia smiled pleasantly at the man approaching her. She found it interesting to note that Grissom seemed to have picked up an almost cat like stalking motion to his walk since leaving the hospital. Add that to the intense look on his face and he seemed almost intimidating.
            “Grissom?” she queried trying to keep her tone light even as a tingle of wariness skipped down her spine.
            “Brass said you had some information on an illegal street race.” Grissom flexed the fingers of both hands in an attempt not to rub at his forehead. The girl was crying again, he could hear her whimpers echoing deep within his cerebral cortex. There was a constant hissing noise as well, the same hissing voice that spoke to him in his dreams. Grissome desperately sought silence and was certain that the only way to that end was through Markus Bathory and all his devils.
            Devils? Grissom felt the familiar tightening pain in his chest. He brought his right hand to his chest and could feel the increasing pulse there.
            “Grissom, are you alright?” Sofia asked a worried frown slowly replacing the cautious smile.
            Grissom nodded quickly. “The race?” he asked wanting to get the information from Sofia before she began to worry too much.
            “Of course,” Sofia began, watching him closely “It’s scheduled for later this afternoon out on Iron Horse Road, near all old warehouses.”
            Grissom hurried from the building, nearly running by the time he reached his motorcycle. Bending over, hands placed on the black seat, Grissom fought to control his breathing and his raging heart beat. Laughing devils, fear, pain and rage danced in his besieged mind as he was split in two. Part of his mind wanted to follow the evidence that clamored through his subconscious, fighting to be free while another part wanted to drown the sights and sounds in the permanent blackness of lost memories.
            Snatching his helmet from its perch between the handlebars and gas cap, Grissom angrily yanked the thing over his head. He needed to get more information on these races and he could think of one man that may be able to help.
            Boots Roy may sponsor riders in legitimate races but he was sure to do business with those that worked outside of the laws constraints. Roy might have an in the Grissom could manipulate and if he was lucky it would bring him within striking distance of Abrams and by default, Markus Bathory.

            *************************************************************

            Markus watched the throng of young lithe bodies undulating under the multi-colored flashing lights with the same morbid scrutiny he reserved for his victims. Watching their hearts flutter and slow, their chests heave one last breath and the life light extinguish within their eyes. It was a death dance, song that few were allowed to witness but always held Markus in sway.
            Sitting in the darkened U-shaped booth near the rear of the twenty-four hour rave, Markus watched and wondered if any of the near naked dancers knew how near to danger they were. Did any of them sense a predator was near?  A superior hunter that could dish out death just as easily as bestowing life?  Markus thought not.
            Spotting sin and seduction in four inch stilettos sashaying her way to his booth, Markus grinned. Daciana Hila was like some serpent Queen, weaving her way through the bouncing and grinding crowd towards him and Donny.
            “Markus,” Daciana greeted in her slightly accented voice, her eyes and lips dripping with a sultry promise that was second nature to the young temptress. “Donny,” she added batting her eyes at the younger man to Markus’s left.
            Donny nodded and Markus shared a glance with Daciana as she slipped into the ruby colored booth opposite of Donny. Daciana’s mouth curled a little higher as she casually rolled her head into a slow, nonchalant shrug. Donny has a crush!  Markus thought mildly amused at this new knowledge.
            “Daciana,” Markus greeted his lips curling into a smug grin. “I thought we were meeting with Cassiopeia.”
            In truth, Markus had been looking forward to seeing the elusive, rarely seen but always behind the scene, Cassiopeia. The intoxicating, mysterious and deadly woman had immediately caught his eye when they had first been introduced by Cezar. It had been apparent by the other man’s deference that the dark beauty was more than a pretty fuck and it did not take Markus long to realize that Cassiopeia was the power behind the mystifying black throne of Cezar’s kingdom.
            Daciana mustered her best attempt at a coy smile but the lovely creature just didn’t have enough modesty to pull it off. “I lied,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
            Markus’s lips curled into something resembling a smile as his pale eyes casually scanned the gyrating crowd and dark shadows for danger. “Really,” he countered, his eyes returning to the young woman next to him “and why would you do that?”
            Daciana held her answer as their waitress approached and took her order. Alone, she answered. “I wanted to speak with you myself and,” Daciana’s gaze turned purposeful “I didn’t think you would see me without the ruse.”
            “So speak,” Markus said amused by the touch of conspiracy in the air.
            Daciana’s grin grew larger as she took long stemmed glass from the waitress and sipped gingerly at the drink.
            “I am looking to be more independent,” she began her tongue darting out to taste the remnants of her drink as she glanced between the two men. “A franchise perhaps…of sorts. Something lucrative for both of us,” she enticed.
            Markus again found his eyes casually hunting the crowd, seeking any hidden dangers. Catching Donny’s gaze Markus flicked his eyes at the crowd, a silent signal for Donny to patrol. With a nod of understanding the younger man rose and left Markus with Daciana, his eyes momentarily lingering on the exotic woman across from him.
            Daciana chuckled and Markus found he enjoyed the sound immensely. Markus could well believe her to be a daughter of Achelous, singing her siren’s song to the unsuspecting. The glimmer in her eye told him she had no delusions where he was concerned but enjoyed her temptress ways regardless.
            “What is your proposition?”
            Daciana’s smile grew larger. “My cousin is good to me but he thinks of me as a child,” bathing Markus in a smoldering look she asked, “Do I look like a child to you, Markus?”
            Markus pinched his lips together and shook his head, enjoying the pain of his erection hidden under the table. “No,” he replied.
            Daciana puckered her lips. “Good, because I am anything but a child. Still, Cezar means well,” she said, her words measured and weighed as she spoke carefully. “It is time for me to broaden myself and I think that you may be able to help me with that.”
            Markus peered over the rim of his drink. The last thing he wanted was some exotic pit-viper always near. Although she is lovely creature, Markus thought slightly forlorn. “I am in a…transitional period right now,” Markus began to explain.
            “Yes, I know,” Daciana interrupted “and I think I can provide you with a certain service that my cousin would be less amenable to.”
            Markus cocked his head to one side his white blonde hair catching the colors of the flashing lights of the dance floor.
            “In return you supply me with your *special* product,” Daciana eyed him as she finished.
            Markus glanced at the glass in his hand. “Don’t you think that will lead you into conflict with your benefactor?”
            “Not if I set up shop in a different zip code. I love Las Vegas but the desert does get boring after awhile,” she explained. “I love the ocean, and Miami is so appealing to me this time of year. Besides it reminds me of the Mediterranean a little.”
            Markus noted Donny standing at the end of the bar nearest their booth. With a subtle shake of his head he let Markus know that Daciana’s little deception was on the up and up, as contradictory as that was. Feeling free to speak, he asked, “What is in this business venture for me?”
            Daciana sucked in her lower lip seductively, feeling the anticipation of getting what she wanted. “Cezar is a business man. If there is no profit he will not expend the energy or time,” she began to explain, scooting closer to Markus. “You are a supplier that fills the demands of his customers, nothing more. Any assistance he gives you will be minimal and only at the discretion of Cassi.”
            At the mention of the Shadow Queen’s name Markus involuntarily scoped the bouncing crowd once more. Dabbling in Cezar’s backyard held certain consequences, one of which could be the wrath of Cassiopeia Varga. He would have to ensure his footing before traveling down this slippery path.
            “What do you offer?” Markus asked pointedly, wanting to know if the reward was worth the risk.
            “Gil Grissom’s woman.”