Nick Stokes visibly relaxed when he met up with Brass. He had not found any sign of Sara and was heading south, paralleling the lake to meet back up with Grissom and Warrick. Nick had started to become anxious when Brass soothed his fears, letting him know that Sara was safe.
            The first sign that they were on the right track was the dead body lying under the desert sun. Even though the lower portion of the face had been decimated it was still obvious to Brass and Nick that they had found the remains of Donald Kempler.
            “What d’ya think?” Nick asked hurriedly, kneeling down to look at the entrance wound.
            Brass cast a cautious glance around their surroundings before kneeling down to examine the dead man. “Close range, maybe 9mm…My guess, Bathory is cleaning house,” Brass surmised, rising to his feet.
            “From these shoe impressions, I’d say that is the direction we need to go,” Nick noted, pointing at the light impressions in the dirt.
            The sound of quickly approaching foot beats had both men whirling with guns drawn and ready.
            Brass spotted the two troopers approaching first. Relaxing his stance, he reached over and lowered Nick’s weapon while raising his own in the air.
            “Captain Brass!”
            “Sgt. Fry,” Brass greeted, elated to see the State Trooper once more.
            “This is Corporal Tally Washington,” Sgt. Fry threw a quick gesture at the woman standing next to him.
            Nick doubted the woman ever had to deal with overly macho fellow officers ribbing her. She was easily six foot or taller and looked like a cross between Grace Jones and Liya Kebede. Nick had no doubts she could kick ass and look gorgeous doing it.
            “We hear you’re looking for your CSI again,” Corporal Washington said after acknowledging her introduction with a curt nod.
            Four sets of wary eyes continuing to survey the landscape around them.
            “Actually we’re looking for two CSIs and one serious scumbag,” Brass explained, a look of mild disgust rising onto his face.
            Fry pointed out the body on the ground a few feet away. “Who’s this?” he asked, his face screwed into a tight grimace.
            “Donny Kempler, Assistant Scumbag,” Brass answered in a dismissive tone. The world would’t shed a single tear for the sadistic little prick and he’s just lucky I found him already dead, was the thought that angrily shot through Brass’ mind.
            Fry and Washington didn’t give the dead man another thought. With the crack and echo of two shots shattering the relative quiet, the Troopers squatted low alongside Brass and Nick. Cautious eyes sought out the origin of the shots but saw nothing.
            “Where’d it come from,” Washington asked her partner in a hushed voice.
            Brass gestured ahead of them. “This way,” he ordered as he led the way.

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

            As long as Bathory made no attempt to move from his present spot, Grissom was willing to clamp down on his rage and remain still. He had positioned himself in between his arch-enemy and Warrick, partially blocking the wounded man from Bathory’s sight.
            “You’ve developed a bad habit of getting your CSIs in danger, Grissom,” Bathory sneered as he spoke, his mind running through options as fast as Deep Junior. “And after you worked so hard to protect them from me.”
            Grissom glared at the man his mouth clamped tightly shut, his lips twisting in loathing.
            Bathory leaned to one side trying to see Warrick. “Did he tell you that CSI Man? Did he tell you how I would probe his flesh…twist it, hmm? How he would fight against giving me my due, his teeth grinding as he fought and failed, finally screaming his agony.”
            Grissom took a threatening step forward with Bathory answering with a jab of the gun in his direction, a warning to the man slowly losing his control over his rage.
            “Strong willed, obstinate…did you know that CSI,” he yelled at Warrick, who had spotted his lost gun and was trying to slowly make his way to it. “He could have made it easier on himself but I used you CSI…I used all of you against him,” Markus cackled in remembrance. “Do you remember Grissom…yes you remember. I’m buried so deep in your head you’ll never be rid of me.”
            Markus laughed evilly. It was unlikely he would escape the police this time but the knowledge that Grissom would never be free of him made it all worth while. A final gift to Richard!  
            “Griss! Don’t!” Warrick desperately called out, seeing his friend slowly losing what control he had left. Warrick feared Bathory would taunt Grissom into something stupid before he could get to his gun.
            Grissom turned his head, marginally in Warrick’s direction his blazing gaze still hyper focused on the man in front of him. His blood surged through his veins and rage hammered in his skull, nearly obliterating any other thoughts. He didn’t question the possibility that Bathory might shoot him dead because there wasn’t enough room in his anger soaked mind to think that far ahead.
            “If I had only known about…” Bathory glared at Grissom with a sinister sneer oozing upon his face, “…that tasty little brunette of yours sooner…I would have loved to have more fun with her.”
            The flash of fear that erupted in Warrick’s chest was ignored along with the pain in his arm as he scrambled under the deck for his fallen gun. Grissom’s howl of anguish echoed in his ears as he cleared the wooden platform. Warrick dove across the remaining distance, his bad arm held across his chest as his right arm stretched out for the gun.
            The moment his fingers curled around the black grip, his heart stopped at the explosive gun shot that reverberating against the cliff walls. Rolling to his side, leveling his gun Warrick watched in horror as Grissom was thrown backwards at the bullet’s impact. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger.

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

            Brass recognized the Goblin Head rock and knew that they were not far from Bathory’s secluded cavern dock. He could remember the last time that he had been there, discovering the small hidden cave at the base of the cliff walls and the terrifying portraits of Bathory’s victims crated with in. Their faces and bodies painted with childlike designs in their own blood.
            “OVER HERE!” Brass yelled at the sound of two more shots echoing in the air.
            Sliding to a halt, the dirt and rocks crunchy under his feet Brass could see Grissom lying on his back, his right hand clutched to his chest as his left hand grasped at the rocky ground to his side. From his vantage point he could barely make out the shooter, his line of sight being partially obscured by a half dead tree leaning out over the rim.
            “Damn it,” Brass muttered as he waved Fry and Washington off to his left.
             The worn, wooden staircase was a single file insertion point. Brass had no intentions of lining the four of them up to be picked up like ducks at a carnival shooting booth. The rim of the alcove was open to the left, with luck Fry and Washington could cover him and Nick as they quickly made there way down.
            “Nick,” Brass said in a clipped voice, his hand waving for the younger man to follow as they descended the stairs far quicker than safety would suggest.
           
            **************************************************************

            Warrick had wanted to tap Bathory through his evil heart but his shot had gone wide. It hadn’t been a complete waste of a shot, having seared a path across his upper right arm, spinning Bathory perceptively and putting the man on warning.
            “GRIS?” Warrick yelled, unable to hide the alarm in his voice. He could see Grissom moving on the ground but he couldn’t see how badly his friend had been hit. “GRIS! TALK TO ME!”
            Grissom groaned in reply as he rolled to his side before awkwardly getting to his knees, his right hand held tightly to his chest.
            Motion from Bathory had Warrick’s attention fully focused on the man as he cautiously made it to his feet, his gun never wavering from his target. “BATHORY! I won’t miss next time,” Warrick warned with all the animosity he felt in his heart. He would have no problem splattering the man’s guts across the rocky beach.
            Bathory’s eyes scanned from Warrick to Grissom stumbling to his feet. It was an edgy standoff where a simple blink of the eye could set of a barrage of bullets.        “Where’s Sara?” Grissom croaked, standing on unsteady feet.
            Warrick almost sighed in relief as he realized that Grissom had had the forethought to wear his bulletproof vest as well. Thank god his head was screwed on tight for that one! Warrick keenly thought.
            “Where’s Sara?” Bathory repeated Grissom’s question back to him, slowly enunciating each word as a malevolent grin spread across his face. “Where do you think Grissom?”
            Warrick cautiously tried to maneuver around the wooden platform. The evil that oozed off Bathory told Warrick the man wasn’t anywhere close to being done. Spotting Warrick moving, Bathory snapped the gun up in his direction. “You can try…is it Brown?” Bathory’s smile grew wider at Warrick’s shocked expression at hearing his name uttered from the devil’s mouth, “Yessss…but I doubt you will make it.”
            “BATHORY! DROP YOUR WEAPON!”
            All three men spun in the direction of the booming voice of authority. Brass stood on the rickety stairs, half way down from the top. With one foot on a lower step, Brass leaned lightly across the rope banister, leveling the muzzle of his weapon directly at Bathory’s torso. A cursory glance told the police captain that Grissom and Warrick were hurt but not seriously and that was just how he was going to keep it.
            “I DON’T THINK SO CAPTAIN BRASS!” Bathory screamed back, his gaze slowly landing on Grissom.
            He could see the glint of fear in the man’s eyes but knew almost immediately it was not fear of his own safety. No, you are frightened for…her! Bathory’s gaze quickly scanned the staircase and ridge above. Behind Brass was a younger dark haired man that he did not know. From the vest and undisguised hatred in the man’s eyes, Bathory surmised him to be one of Grissom’s people. Stokes? Sanders?
            Bathory continued to take in the ridge, quickly picking out the two State Troopers but no other police officers or CSIs. Specifically, he did not see a tall brunette CSI. He doesn’t know where she is at, Bathory thought, one corner of his mouth curling up like the Christmas Grinch.
Warrick spotted the feral grin and knew it did not bode well for any of them and maybe more specifically, Grissom. “Gris,” Warrick called to the man who had returned his attention back to Bathory. With a ‘come here’ gesture Warrick tried to get Grissom to meet him half way.
            “Do you want her…Grissom?” Bathory licked his lips purposely. “I’m not quite done with her but-“
            “WHERE IS SHE, YOU SICK FUCK!” Grissom growled, his agony of not knowing and his fear of the possibilities almost palatable.
            Brass knew immediately what Bathory’s game was. “GIL,” he yelled to the man below, “SARA IS SAFE! HE DOESN’T HAVE HER!” Brass tried to reassure the man who was slowly giving way to his panic.
            Bathory rolled his head slowly, leering as he did so. “I have to commend you on your taste in women,” he said, his voice a silky poison to Grissom’s ears.
            “Where is she?” Grissom demanded. “SARA!” He screamed his eyes searching for the hidden cave he had remembered a second too late.
           
            Grissom’s world began to shrink. The sound of his blood pumping furiously in his ears muffled all the other sounds around him. What had he done?  “Sara,” he whispered forlornly.
            Bathory ducked his head, composing himself as he continued to torture Grissom with doubt. “Yesss, Sarraaa…lovely creature, skin so soft…”
            “Gris, come on man, he’s playing you,” Warrick warned sliding another step closer to the slowly unraveling man, the throbbing pain in his arm forgotten as the adrenaline surged through his veins.
            “BATHORY!” Brass called out in warning, “I WILL PUT YOU DOWN!”
            “GRIS,” Nick called out from above Brass, “LISTEN TO ME…I FOUND HER, I FOUND SARA...SHE’S SAFE, SHE’S WITH CATHERINE AND GREG!”
            Warrick had steadily inched his way towards Grissom, closing the gap at a cautious pace. “He doesn’t have her, Gris,” Warrick told him, his voice smooth, calm.
            Grissom pressed the heel of his hand into his temple, trying to quiet the screams echoing in his mind. Sara, Sara, his mind chanted with the beating of his heart. He couldn’t think, his chest was killing him and Bathory’s hissing voice was penetrating his skull.
            Brass needed Grissom to stay calm and back up to give him a clean, safe shot. He needed Warrick to stay put and he needed a lot of luck on his side. “Nick…you got’em,” Brass whispered to the man just above him.
            “Yea, I got’em,” Nick said without missing a beat; his eyes never leaving Bathory, his gun steady.
            “Stay here,” Brass ordered as he slowly descended the wooden steps, one careful step at a time.
            “You didn’t give me much time with her,” Bathory teased, “but I promise you she had an enlightening experience.”
            Grissom groaned, his hands reaching for his head, fingers scraping along his scalp as he tried to block out the voice of his tormentor. Grabbing the hair at the back of his head, he curled into his chest in a last ditch effort to control the rage and chaos ricocheting within.
            “I couldn’t finish her like Kimmi,” Bathory laughed as Grissom’s head shot up, his tortured thoughts playing across his face like a movie reel, “but you can’t save that BITCH either.”
            Brass had made it to the platform when he heard Bathory’s lies trip of his tongue. He knew it would be the proverbial detonation button with Grissom and without a second’s hesitation or an ideal shot, Brass pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun shot echoed with Grissom’s howl of rage and despair.
            Brass’ shot was truer than Warrick’s. Smashing firmly into Bathory’s left shoulder; the man was lifted back and spun in an ungraceful arc away from an advancing Grissom. Losing his footing in the wet sand and rock, Bathory fell hard on to his back, his gun knocked loose from his grip in the process.
            The moment Brass fired and Bathory was hit, Nick vaulted the rope banister landing on the rocky ground ten feet below. With a stumbled start he ran for Grissom, who was charging after the falling Bathory.
            Grissom was nothing but rage and fury as he followed Bathory to the ground. Straddling the wounded man, he pounded his fists into the man’s face repeatedly, screaming “I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU!” over and over again.
            Nick kicked Bathory’s gun clear while Warrick did his best to cover the man.
            “GIL,” Brass yelled coming up behind the flailing man, ducking as to not get clocked in the jaw by an errant fist. Noting that Nick and Warrick had Bathory covered, Brass holstered his weapon quickly before rushing in to grab hold of the back of Grissom’s vest and his right arm. Yanking Grissom forcibly from Bathory, Brass pulled his irrational, uncontrolled friend from their wounded perpetrator.
            Grissom tried to spin out of Brass’ grip, but only managed to topple himself onto the ground with Brass pressing a knee painfully into his side. With his left hand pressed against Grissom’s chest, Brass raised his right hand in front of him. “Whoa, whoa, Gil…listen, listen,” Brass tried to reason with the man. “I’d like nothing better than to let you kick his ass but…”
            “GET OFF ME!”
            “Gil, WHOA!” Brass ducked one swinging fist, only to get tapped by another, “hmmph!” Struggling to keep control of Grissom, Brass swore, “DAMN IT! LISTEN TO ME!”
            “He killed her,” Grissom declared in anguish, “he killed her.”
            Brass shook his head fiercely, “No, she’s at the cabin. Just like Nicky said.”
            Grissom slowed his struggles, staring into Brass’ eyes, searching for the truth of his words.
            “It’s true, Gris,” Nicky threw over his shoulder, his eyes and weapon still focused on the injured Markus Bathory while Sgt. Fry and his partner cuffed the man. “She’s got a couple of scrapes and a bum ankle but she’s good to go…just worried about you.”
            Grissom pushed at Brass’ knee in his chest. “Let me up, Jim,” he said, a different kind of desperation entering his voice.
            Hesitantly Brass let up, helping Grissom to his feet. For a brief moment he thought his friend would go after Bathory again.
            “Grissom, really, are you going to believe them?” Bathory asked through gritted teeth. “They will tell you anything to save you from yourself.”
            Like a bolt from the sky above, Grissom knew with complete clarity that Sara was alive and waiting for him. I would feel it, he thought, I would feel it if she were dead.
Stepping forward with a knowing smile, Grissom leaned in to whisper in Bathory’s ear, “I am…awake, Markus, take your hissing lies and live in someone else’s nightmares.”
            Grissom watched Bathory struggle against the two Troopers grip as he was led up and out of the alcove. He could still feel the residual effects of Bathory on his mind, the faint unease that crawled at the base of his skull but for the first time in a long time he felt like he could breathe and maybe that was the start to purging himself of all his devils.
            “You going to be okay,” Grissom asked Warrick as the four men cleared the cliff wall.
            “Yea,” Warrick chuckled, figuring laughing through the pain was the best way to go. Besides, he thought, it’s finally over! “BUT I’M NOT COMING IN TONIGHT!” he yelled at the quickly departing Grissom.
            “I give it six months,” Nick threw out as he walked with Warrick and Brass.
            Both Brass and Warrick looked at Nick oddly- Brass not knowing what the hell Nick was talking about and Warrick misunderstanding him.
            “You give them six months?” Warrick asked incredulously, not believing his friend could be that dense.
            Brass mimicked Warrick’s disbelief when he realized what Warrick was asking. “Sara and the Bugman? Forget it!” Brass proclaimed. “There the long haul, Baby.”
            Nick grinned and shook his head. “No, I’m saying six months until we all get invitations to a wedding,” Nick explained with arched brows.
            Warrick rolled his head in understanding. “Ahh, six months, hunh?” Warrick thought for a moment before stating his prediction. “I give it four months and I have a C-note to back that up,” Warrick challenged his friend.
            “I’ll take that wager,” Nick declared happily, “you game Jim?”
            Brass chuckled, “Nicky boy, I will be happy to take a piece of that cheese.”
            Nick laughed and shook the police captain’s hand.
           
            ********************************************************

            Sara spotted Grissom approaching before anyone else. Hopping off the paramedic’s gurney she quickly hobbled past Catherine and Greg to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck as he swept her into a big bear hug. Grissom buried his face in her neck, his hands reaching up to cradle the back her head close to his. Sara could feel the shudders running though him and knew they must surely match her own.
            “You’re alright,” he muttered almost sobbing, “you’re okay.”
            Sara nodded energetically, tears of relief and joy slipping down her cheeks as she grasped his face lovingly. “Yes, yes,” she told him reassuringly.
            Sara’s left hand slid back behind Grissom’s neck while her right slipped down his chest to place it above his heart. The scorched fabric of his shirt caught Sara’s attention and looking down at her hand she could see the bullet hole. Frightened she pulled the shirt apart, popping the few buttons that had remained fastened.
            “You’re shot!” she cried frantically before seeing and feeling the heavy black vest beneath his shirt.
            “I’m fine,” Grissom chuckled, placing kisses along her cheek, still too elated to find her alive and safe.
            A cold shudder ran up Sara’s spine as she pulled the impacted bullet from his flak vest, just above his heart. Reaching up she desperately clung to Grissom’s chest thanking whatever angel, spirit, ancestor or deity that had watched over him through it all.
            “GRISSOM!”
            Sara turned in Grissom’s arms to watch a belligerent Markus Bathory being wrestled into the back of Sgt. Fry’s cruiser. Grissom felt compelled to angle himself between Bathory and Sara, holding her tightly to his side with his left arm.
            The two men glared at one another across the distance, enemies… the victor and the vanguished. Sara could sense Grissom pulling away from her, the rising hostility as he defiantly stared back at the sneering man in the State Trooper’s squad car.
            “Hey,” Sara said pulling him tighter against her, “hey, stay with me.”
            Grissom glanced down at her the fierce expression quickly evaporated from his face as he took the vision of her in. Sara’s face was bruised and dirty with scrapes criss-crossing her forehead and right cheek but the feature Grissom could describe in the greatest detail was the love that shone through her dark eyes. He questioned her sanity, loving him through it all, the years of denial and the chaos of recent events but he could never question her love it was there for everyone to see. Most of all it was there for him treasure.
            “Always,” he whispered softly, forgetting about everyone and everything around them as he delighted in her loving gaze.
            “Hey,” Catherine said laying a gentle hand on Grissom’s shoulder as she divvied her time between him and Warrick who was having a splint placed on his broken arm, “let’s get out of here.”
            Grissom took in the faces around him, his friends, his family. They had stuck with him, rode the storm out all he had to do was lead them to shore. “Yea,” he said with a lopsided grin, earning him a slap on the back from Brass and Nick.
            Grissom had wanted Sara to ride in the ambulance with Warrick but she wouldn’t leave him. Finally relenting, he helped her over to the Denali he had driven the night before, settling her into the backseat gingerly avoiding her wounded ankle. Leaning in he captured her face with tender care and stole a long, loving kiss.
            Catherine smiled at Brass before turning to Nick and Greg who were helping Warrick into the back of the ambulance. “I’ll play chaperone,” Catherine explained throwing a thumb over her shoulder, “and meet you at the hospital.”  She patted Warrick on the leg as he sat down within the ambulance, his splinted arm resting across his chest.
            With a crooked grin Warrick nodded to Catherine before she headed for the Denali with Grissom and Sara in it. Noticing the semi-stunned look on Greg’s face, Warrick asked, “What’s up, Greg?”
            Greg turned his gaze from the two CSIs canoodling in the backseat of the SUV. He raised his hand pointing at the two only to have in flop back down still too stunned to say much.
            “What?” Nick asked the flabbergasted Greg, “Grissom and Sara?”
            Greg nodded surprised at the nonchalant manner of Nick and Warrick and the two detectives. “Yea…I,” Greg stammered pointing to the SUV that was pulling away, Catherine behind the wheel. “When?” he asked, looking to Nick, Warrick then Brass for an answer.
            Greg had been well aware of the flirting and sexual tension that had always surrounded their supervisor and one leggy brunette CSI but…”When?” he repeated.
            “Greg, that’s kismet, “Warrick told him as Nick closed one of the ambulance doors.
            “Yea,” Brass said patting the younger man on the shoulder, “it’s like the Dunes going down…old news.”
            Brass winked at Warrick and Nick as he Sofia headed for the gray Charger parked not far from the ambulance, enjoying the astonished look on Sanders face the whole way.
            “And he calls himself an investigator,” Nick teased before letting Warrick know they would see him at the hospital.
            With the doors shut, the ambulance pulled away rocking along the rough and rutted drive. “Come on Greg,” Nick said slapping the other man on the back, “let’s get out of here.”
            The coroner’s office would have to release the scene and then, hopefully, someone else could deal with the aftermath. After weeks of being on an emotional rollercoaster from hell, Nick was certain they all needed a long break.  Or at least twenty-four hours of solid sleep!