Glitter and Glass

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)

Summary:

It wasn't a complete tragedy. as some people seemed to think, that he had bought out of his bond-debt, and then fallen afoul of a House War. There was a lot of responsibility in being Free and frankly the privileges hadn't exactly outweighed the responsibilities.

 

In a dystopian world of Houses and House Wars, crimes must still be solved, and points adjudicated.

Chapter 1

---

Gil Grissom hated going to the Rampart.

There was a particular cloud of thoughts and things he needed to be aware of that followed over him when he decided to leave his kit in the trunk of his vehicle when he locked it. Not there for an investigation, and maybe that was what was bothering him. He was going there of his own free will, parking in the employee parking lot because he could, before he headed up the back stairwell to the lobby. The elevator more than effectively worked, but he wanted to take his time and go over what he was going to say to Sam Braun before he got there.

This was one talk with the man that he couldn't afford to wing, like he usually did. He had to be aware of a hundred different tiny factors, but none of them were running coherently through his mind as he took every step up the stair well. The thin running light of blue neon at the underside of the stairs above his head garnered more attention, and so did the feeling of the handrail under his fingers before he stopped at the door that would let him out into the lobby.

One deep breath later, and there wasn't any point in waiting any longer. He'd made his decision, and he wasn't the kind of man to chew over a decision until he was sick with indecision.

Still, opening the lobby door and stepping out into it, walking carefully through it to the elevators that he knew he could take up to see at least Braun's secretary, was like dropping into a world of glitter and gleam. They made the lighting warm-toned, Gil knew, because it made everything gleam a little more gold than it already did, caught the edges of metal wrists cuffs and fresh dice in interesting ways, gleamed off the chrome of the slot machines.

It was a place of dreams -- there was always the chance that you might hit it big enough to buy out the bond-debt and become Free. Or sometimes it was a way of hoping for a little extra luxury or a good time. Gil preferred more direct routes to his goal, which was why he was here.

He had an appointment with the head of House Braun, which was no mean feat in itself. House Braun might not be one of those invited to the Imperial Court, but rumor had it that it was close. It nigh on ran the Vegas strip and it was only a matter of time before its accumulated assets would put it on a par with some of the Great Houses -- like the Luthors, or Waynes.

Getting an appointment with Sam Braun was an accomplishment, but getting what you wanted was more like a miracle. He still thought he had a chance, though he hadn't given too much thought to the possible cost. He had rank, status, and despite the way he'd been brought into House Braun, he'd never been anything but a diligent worker in an important field.

He didn't ask for much or give the House much trouble, so maybe everything would work out, as long as he pitched it right.

Gil gave the house guard standing by the elevator a smile. "Investigator Supervisor Gil Grissom. I have an appointment with Master Sam Braun."

The guard glanced down at Gil's status cuffs automatically and relaxed as he picked out the House Braun insignia. "Level 17. I'll let them know you are on your way sir."

"Thank you." He waited for the elevator doors to open after the man had pressed it open with the touch of the button that was behind him.

And then he stepped into the elevator.

There were cameras in the leftmost corner, and they took in everything in endless loops of film that were stored for six months in the control center. Gil knew that, knew where the control center was, knew that six months ago a technician had lost his job and was now in Imperial prison for mimicking a feed to that specific elevator so that someone could try to sneak up to the 17th floor to kill Sam Braun. He also knew that there was a backup feed from the camera on the right, the storage location of those contents unknown.

Most people didn't even know there was a camera in the right corner.

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and rubbed at his status cuffs. They were a little loose. He'd been working out with Jim after hours sometimes, and it had helped to make long hours of fieldwork easier to tolerate. It also meant that he'd have to get them adjusted in the next couple of days so they didn't drive him mad.

People tended to look a little suspiciously at people with loose cuffs; it was something he noted in his work. If he found a body with loose cuffs, he would immediately be suspecting identity theft, or some sort of killing-fraud. Or, if he wasn't being suspicious, someone who didn't take any pride in their appearance or had low self-worth.

The elevator moved smoothly to a halt, opening into a luxurious and impressive reception area.

"Investigator Supervisor Grissom, we've been expecting you." The secretary that approached him could have easily had a different career path in the Pleasure industry or as a Personal, and a discrete look at her status cuffs revealed that she did indeed have the appropriate qualifications to do so. Following an administration career path must have been a personal choice.

"Master Braun is ready to see you now." She smiled sweetly at him obviously trying to put him at his ease.

Braun had probably chosen her as his secretary for just that reason -- the charm of her, and for her unquestionably fine features. After all, most Houses liked to put up a good front, best foot forwards, and Braun was no different in that respect from any of the other houses vying for dominance in the fiercely competitive nature of their society.

The only difference was that they usually were the best, not just looking it. He inclined his head slightly, gave her a smile that belied his internal state, and followed her when she gestured to his doors. "Thank you."

She smiled as she knocked on the door and then pushed it open. "Investigator Supervisor Grissom sir," she introduced him and then stepped aside, revealing an office that was stunning in its opulence. Sam Braun flaunted his success as most Masters did, but few had the money to have original great works of art on their office walls.

"Ah, Gil Grissom... come in, take a seat," Sam Braun said genially, watching him with hawk sharp eyes.

"Thank you, sir." The geniality wasn't to be trusted, Gil knew. For all that Catherine liked Sam and got along well with him, Gil preferred to keep his professional distance. Making friends with a Master, even a good one, could cloud judgment that he needed to keep a grasp of, keep clear of any mental baggage or thoughts like...

"I appreciate you giving me the chance to talk with you." He'd wait to broach the topic itself once Braun had replied.

"I do like to be accessible to members of my own Household," Sam replied easily. "And you have been one of my better acquisitions. It's not often that I get the opportunity to acquire a Freeman contractor with a national reputation as part of an ordinary House War. Unfortunate for you, but hopefully you haven't found your return to House Service too onerous?"

"Not at all." Gil rested his arms on the armrest of the chair, hearing the faint clink of metal on wood. There was a comforting certainty in knowing that he had a place in society, and no more responsibility than getting his job done. "House Braun has been a good Household to me, and... that's exactly why I wanted to talk to you. One of the lab's subcontracting employees is from a House that isn't so easy on their property."

"Oh yes?" Sam Braun looked vaguely interested. "And why are you bringing this to me?"

"I..." Gil paused, taking in Braun's expression. "I wanted to see if there was some way I could get House Braun to Challenge for him."

Sam Braun steepled his fingers a moment. "I see. A Challenge is a serious business and I don't authorize it on a whim, and generally only for worthwhile causes. I could, after all, lose one of my Champions or have them incapacitated. Any rival House sensing a weakness would seize the opportunity to hit us in concert. Convince me that this one employee is worth taking that risk for."

"He's a gem-level Investigator with a specialty in DNA testing -- he's our only gem level DNA qualified Investigator, and he's currently coming in to work in a condition where it's amazing that he can work. He's only twenty-seven. In another ten years, if he lives that long, he could probably surpass me in qualification levels."

Asset. He was an important asset with the possibility to have more potential in years to come. Gil had to focus on that in his mind as a selling point instead of the hairline fracture that Greg currently had in one leg, which was keeping him confined to the lab for at least a week on order of their doctor-cum-coroner.

"Hmm. Gem level and being treated like that? Why hasn't somebody Challenged for him before if he's that high ranked, especially in a professional specialty?" Sam looked like someone was trying to sell him glass instead of jewels. "Some kind of attitude problems? Incompatibility? He would have asked for Challenge before, surely."

It wasn't an unreasonable statement. High status bond-slaves would and could invite Challenge from another House. It didn't always make it to a Fight level -- most often the Houses would try and negotiate a Challenge with buyouts, but a House with strong Fighters or a high profile Champion would take the risk and a Challenge could net them a debt-free bond-slave.

"Low sense of self worth," Gil offered as explanation. He hadn't expected Sam to effortlessly accept his proposal, but... But. He wanted it to work; he wanted to get the Challenge approved. If he thought he was capable of it, he'd Challenge himself, but all the training with Jim in the world wouldn't really prepare him for that sort of Challenge, and he didn't want Greg to feel indebted to him. Better to make it a House affair, just in terms of politics.

"He's been in that House all of his life as far as I know. If he doesn't understand that there are better options out there for him... Please, look at this for the opportunity it is. He's a skilled worker who discounts his own marketability."

"And what are your reasons for this, hmm?" Sam Braun asked considering his words. "What can you offer me to do this favor for you?"

That was how it was going to be. He should have expected that, the intangible fear that had been biting at the back of his mind, making him nervous about the decision. Of course he'd owe Braun something. "I... don't actually know what you would prefer as payment for a favor like that."

"Well it would be a little pointless to add to your bond-debt," Sam Braun said. "For all your triple shifts and exemplary work, you're still a long way from freedom. You can't effectively offer me... financial remuneration and a 'can't be beaten' House Champion has a high fee. So... I ask you, Gil, where are your limits? How badly do you want this particular prize? Enough to gamble?"

He managed a faint smile as he glanced over towards the camera monitors that were slightly behind Braun and to the left. "I wouldn't have stepped into the Rampart if I wasn't ready to gamble."

"Well said for a member of House Braun." Sam Braun seemed to make a decision. "Well, here's your gamble. I'll call a Challenge on the basis of contractual negligence -- that they're depleting my productivity with their treatment of a subcontractor whom I believe is necessary. For this, I will hold you accountable with two favors… one which I think will be easy for you to fulfill, the other I'll contact you about in the near future. Renege on either and the Challenge will not go forward. Understand?"

Sam Braun's genial look was replaced entirely by the hard-nosed Master of a House that had clawed its way up through the ranks and now practically ran Vegas.

Braun wasn't someone to renege on in a deal. Braun possibly wanted him to look the other way in an investigation, something... Something he shouldn't do. Something that would bother his sense of ethics endlessly. But for the life, the relative freedom of a member of his team...?

"I understand."

"Good. Then the first favor is that you mentor and promote Catherine Willows as swiftly as possible without being blatant in your favoritism," Sam informed him. "I don't want you to give her a role she doesn't deserve, but go out of your way to give her those opportunities to earn that role, do you understand?"

"Fast-track her in something she's already qualified for," Gil clarified. It was as easy as rewording Braun's request into something that he could easily palate himself.

Catherine. Well, that wasn't a surprise, knowing that Braun doted on her. She was good. It wouldn't be hard to qualify her a little higher, make her worthy of the promotion. Slide her some hard cases, give her a couple of the career makers.

"Good. She's proud. She wants to earn her way out. I respect that," Sam Braun smiled a little, a genuine smile as he contemplated Catherine. "But where I don't want to give her an easy ride, I can arrange opportunity. The second... well. I'll get back to you on that before the Challenge is issued. I'll start the House lawyers on negotiations. Two days perhaps and then we'll see."

Two days. Two days was long enough for it to bother him, and Gil knew that Braun would want him to mull it over before the agreement was permanent and binding. "All right. Thank you. I'm sure you won't choose anything beyond my scale of abilities for the second."

"Lets just say what I have in mind might prove a different sort of Challenge," Braun said with a smile. "Well, thank you for bringing that to my attention Gil. Be sure to leave details of this subcontractor and his House with my secretary before you leave."

He gave Braun a nod, and started to stand. "I will, thank you, sir. I'll... see myself out."

Sam Braun watched him go for a moment, before seeming to lose interest as Grissom let himself out of the office and back in towards the reception area. The alert secretary smiled at him pleasantly, as if she had genuinely missed him in those few minutes he was having an audience with the Master of House Braun. "Do you have some details to give me sir?" she asked. With a dart of her eyes, she noted with calm efficiency his high professional status.

Gil paused for a moment at her desk, the relieving cool sensation of the marble desktop against his knuckles a distraction from guessing what Braun could have him at work doing. "Yes, I need to give you the information about a subcontractor in my department. His house is House Wesker."

"House Wesker. Oh yes, they have a branch in Vegas," the secretary commented. "And the name of the subcontractor?"

"Gregor Sanders." He took a moment to spread his palm out on the desktop edge, because it was something to feel beyond thought and unease.

"Duly noted. Master Braun will be contacting you shortly. Until then, you are requested to maintain confidentiality about your discussions," the secretary advised him. "Have a good evening sir."

He wondered if that had been part of her training script. Don't talk about your dealings and feel free to have a worried evening. "Good". Gil tapped the counter once, and managed a smile before he turned away. "You, too."

If she smiled at him, he didn't notice or was too distracted to care. All he could think of was what Sam Braun could possibly even need to negotiate as a favor from him, considering he could buy most things in Vegas. And what could a man who had everything want?

---

He wouldn't be going to sleep early that day, or maybe anytime soon at all. Gil was tense, and no amount of staring at his ceiling would make it go away. Now the weight of Greg's survival rested on him. On him not backing down, on him holding up to the two things that Braun wanted of him.

A challenging task in exchange for a life? It was obvious what his choice was. It was also obvious that it would gnaw at him. He was going to have two days of double shifts just to work himself to exhaustion, once he did go in to work. Maybe he could go in early, clean up some reports, dot his Is and cross his Ts. But before that, he was going to take himself to the House jeweler and have his cuffs adjusted.

It made him feel uncomfortable walking around knowing that people were assuming he was a fake or a slacker of some description. At least the House Braun setting was a little more tasteful than a few he had worn in his time and the jeweler would fix them while you waited, for obvious reasons. It wasn't legal for a bonded Slave to wander around without his status cuffs. The law was very clear on that. Fortunately, the House jeweler could be found in the Rampart -- not unsurprisingly as it was Sam Braun's high security stronghold and it wasn't hard to thread his way through the gambling floor over towards the shopping area that was inside the casino.

There was everything in there, temptations for anything a person could want to spend newly won money on. Gil preferred to stop into a market run by a high House because even if smaller markets were cheaper; there was a guarantee of quality in the products that was important to have when it came to electronics equipment, in particular. The imports he could find in high houses like Braun were without question of the highest quality.

The work on cuff resizing or stone setting was also high quality, the only sign of Gil's multiple resizings over the years a warped line at the very middle on the inside.

And for once, there wasn't a line. Maybe he needed to do that at 4 pm more often.

"Another from Investigations," the Jeweler commented with a smile. "Good afternoon sir, surely not another addition already? Didn't I fit a gem increment to you a couple of months ago?"

"You did -- I need them sized down this time." He was able to smile then -- usually he was there for an incrementation change, and needing to go there was usually a good thing. It was this time, too, if he thought about it well. He was fitter, stronger, still healthy at his age. That was important, too. "Another?"

"From your department apparently. He's in the waiting area getting a metal grade on a 'trace polymer specialty' whatever that means," the Jeweler replied. "I just do the patterning and setting and look it up on the Imperial charts. Or in his case I get my apprentice to do it. Casey is qualified to engrave and set metal now. I'll do yours... you keep me in bond-payments with your level promotions and specialties." He grinned at Gil.

Gil couldn't help but smile faintly as he leaned a hip against the counter and pushed his sleeves up a little so the skin above and below his cuffs was visible. "That's good to hear. I'm sure I'll find some new level promotion soon enough." It was his academic research that did it for him rather than his field work. Usually.

He had to wonder who the metal grade in trace polymer was. Trace, trace... Hodges.

The man took his wrists and placed them in an unlocker, hearing it rumble and then click. "You dropped nearly two sizes since you last came in," the jeweler commented. "Take a seat and I'll resize, and I'll throw in a polish for you. You can chat to your... uh... colleague."

That sounded like the voice of someone who'd already spent too much time talking with Hodges. Gil tilted his eyebrows at the man, and he managed a nod. "Thank you." There was a little section over to the side, out of sight of the storefront, where people waited, bare-wristed, for the cuffs to be tended too. Two sizes was quite a difference. No wonder he'd been feeling sloppy and uncomfortable when he stopped to contemplate his cuffs. It had probably been that bad for weeks, but when he coasted from case to case... it was easy to forget things like that.

He wished he could forget that Hodges had caught his eyes when he entered that side room.

"Mr. Grissom sir." Hodges could be seen almost literally turning on a smile for his superior's benefit. "What a coincidence... Can I get you some coffee?"

Gil managed a tight smile, and because he knew that he logically wouldn't be going home to sleep and rest, gave a faint inclination of his head. "I'd appreciate that." After all, it couldn't be anything but unhappy coincidence. It wasn't as if four p.m. was a normal hour for either of them to be up and awake, let alone at the jewelers.

"So..." Hodges got up and poured some of the complimentary coffee and brought it back. "This was the only time I could get in. It's been a nightmare. Would you believe since they transferred me in, they still haven't put me in my correct housing band? Well they say that they have but there's no way that the pokey apartment I have now matches up. I did have to come in from New York. I've had to spend all day down at the House Administration trying to persuade some b- uh, unhelpful administrator that as I am going up to a metal level specialty, I should definitely be in a metal based housing band. But then she tells me she can't see any evidence of a metal increment so... Anyway here I am getting it done before I go back and try again."

Hodges wasn't a transfer in the usual manner, as far as Gil knew. And he did know, as a Supervisor. He was an 'acquisition', which meant House War or a runaway looking for a home. And as kiss-ass as Hodges was -- Gil could almost hear the man trying to latch on beneath the noise of the chair legs squeaking over expensive waxed tiles -- it didn't click with House War.

"I'm sure you'll get it worked out."

"House bureaucracy," Hodges said sitting down next to him as he passed over the coffee. "But obviously I came in at the right time. I find it hard to believe the Investigation Unit in Vegas hasn't had anyone with sufficient specialties in trace. That kid... Sanders right? I suppose he's got the levels but I suppose because he has DNA marked up, trace seems second rate and it can be the key to a case sometimes. You don't always get the DNA, right?"

Gil folded his fingers around the coffee cup, wishing that the thin Styrofoam would actually conduct sufficient heat to his hands to make it feel like he was holding something hot. The most conversation he wanted to give the man was a curt 'No, we don't' but he knew he had to do better. If there was any kind of level for 'ability to interact appropriately with other humans' Gil had a feeling he'd be stone level. Not quite as low as wood, but... But Hodges wanted Gil to throw him a bone. "No, we don't. And while DNA can link a suspect, trace can tell us what was used."

"Exactly!" Hodges beamed and relaxed as if he was now Grissom's best buddy. "You can do so much with trace, you know. You know, I once did a trace on a House War a few years back. Proved a fraudulent killing claim. Knocked the rival house back a few points in the adjudication and the Imperial Judge ruled against them. That's how important trace can be."

That made Gil's mouth twitch a little. Maybe he'd been in the system too long, because even though he knew that every point counted in a ruling like that... He'd testified in too many cases where he'd knocked the point scale over just by one or two, where both sides had been crooked in their dealings. "David. I know how important trace is. I've been an Investigator for a very long time now. No part of the evidence is any less important than the other pieces."

"Well it's certainly refreshing to have a Supervisor, particularly with your status, recognize that," Hodges replied, absently 'wrist-scrubbing' as Brass called it.

It was one of his sure fire tips for someone who was trying to pass themselves off as a freeborn or a long term buy out. The presence of the status cuffs was so ingrained into the consciousness that take them away and a person would fidget insecurely with the bare wrists. Hodges looked distinctly uncomfortable particularly as he saw Grissom glance at his bare wrists.

"I uh... they should be done soon." The man practically blushed as he tried to hide them from close scrutiny.

Sometimes, even legitimate long term buy-outs took a while to get used not to having cuffs. But it wasn't a nervous sort of wrist-scrubbing, not like the faint guilty feeling of being bare there. Gil's own cuffs had left matching pale stripes against his tanned skin, and he glanced to his own wrists for a moment, the stark contrast of white against tan, and then took another sip of coffee.

"It isn't as if I have mine on, either."

"Sidle was telling me in San Francisco where she came in on, there are underground clubs where people 'unlock' and everyone goes without," Hodges said looking faintly horrified. "That's just... dangerous. I mean... how would you know who you were with? They could be killers! What if a rival House came in?" He shook his head at the state of a world where common sense and decency were abandoned for cheap thrills.

Gil could hardly muster the effort it took to shrug at Hodges' horror. "People do things like that. I can understand the urge, certainly, even if I wouldn't do it myself." After all... Freedom, being really free, was an amazing thing. He could understand why someone would want to play with the feeling, the utter danger of it, for a little while.

Freedom was nice to visit but...

It wasn't a complete tragedy as some people seemed to think that he had bought out of his bond-debt, and then fallen afoul of a House War. There was a lot of responsibility in being Free and frankly the privileges didn't exactly outweigh the responsibilities. Having someone else be responsible for all of that, and letting him get on with his interests, his work and do what he wanted... well that was pretty good as well.

"Yeah, I can think of one or two that might," Hodges said darkly, obviously mentally tarring a few mutual colleagues as deviant. "You wouldn't catch me in one of those places!"

"To catch people in one of those places, I would have to actually go there," Gil pointed out mutedly. "And instead I 'catch' you here, getting your metal grade adjusted. You know, talk about something like that enough and other people would get suspicious..."

Hodges looked faintly alarmed. "There's nothing to be suspicious of... I... it was just a comment...."

He was about to dig himself in deeper even as the trainee Jeweler came in and smiled at him. "Sir? Would you like to come and be re-locked? I've finished the setting."

"Ah yes," He smiled apologetically at Grissom as if Gil would be heartbroken to see him go. "Sorry about this, Gil... I look forward to continuing our conversation at work."

"I'm sure we'll have some interesting cases. I'll... see you there." He closed his eyes as soon as Hodges started to move, ready to wait in quiet until the resizing and polishing were done. It was one of those days that he might as well head in early, find something interesting, and then work on it for the next thirty hours straight.

"Great." Hodges smiled and left the room, already starting on at the Jeweler. "I hope you know how important this is. I've been waiting for this to..." His voice faded out in detail but the tone was audible.

It was enough to make Gil privately contemplate that if Hodges was a runner, his last House had probably sat there and had a coffee instead of sending someone after him. He could just imagine a House Guard halfheartedly pursuing him for a few days and then strolling back and saying how he had given him the slip, oh dear what a shame. And look, the twenty-eight days were nearly up and there was no point.

That was a little uncharitable but it brought a smile to his face.

It helped, a little, even if it was petty of him. Gil hadn't made any pretentious claims towards sainthood in his years in the lab -- he had a temper, he'd shown it from time to time, he was moody, he... loved his job despite everything. And no one sane would put the odd cutting thought as beyond him.

At least, too, he'd have fresh cuff adjustments before Braun decided what part 'two' was.

He worried at the thought. The concession about Catherine was to be expected. Everyone knew that Catherine's mother had been bought in and trained up from a small house Pleasure Slave to a Courtesan for House Braun. Catherine was just lucky that her mother had opted to join her bond-debt with her own otherwise, Catherine might have ended up separated from her. As it was, she had a surprising level of familiarity with the head of House Braun which probably accounted for her rather smooth way of dealing with high status Free contractors and Masters. And quite possibly her kick-ass attitude.

He wondered if she might have any ideas.

Of course, that would mean talking to her about it. And he didn't want to, really. He didn't want to let her know what he was doing, because it was probably technically stupid and not... usual. Not within the bounds of what most people would do, Gil supposed. Everyone in the lab saw it, every day they worked. Everyone in the lab came in and saw Greg standing there, with a black eye or a bruised cheek, or the missing tuft of hair and the bare patch at the nape of his neck. It was that moment where a victim yelled for someone to dial 911 and everyone thought everyone else was going to do it.

Too dangerous, too much risk, but if someone didn't do something Greg wasn't going to come in to work one day. And his house would pay out the contractual debt, but that would be that.

Gil just couldn't let that happen while he watched.

He'd watched too long as it was and not seen the situation for how bad it really was. For all his experience in observation, he'd let the force of the younger man's personality gloss over the severity of the situation. At least that was why he told himself it had gone on so long. Why he'd let it go on so long.

There wasn't much question in his mind that he'd go through with the second demand Braun had, and Braun had to know that.

That was what was going to bother him and work through his mind until Braun contacted him again. It worried him more than Hodges was worried to be caught without his cuffs.

"Mr. Grissom?" The House Jeweler was looking around the door. "I'm done. I want to make sure it is a comfortable fit. If you would follow me?"

Gil stood, and kept his coffee cup in hand. If he was lucky, then Hodges would be long gone. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since the other man had left. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sizing down is reasonably easy. We've got a new plating technique. Works a treat," the Jeweler told him. "I just want to make sure there are no rough bits. Some people pad them, but in the long run that's not very satisfactory."

His status cuffs lay sparkling on the unlocker-relocker, his achievements very evident in gem studded glyphs and colors.

"I've tried it." Leather lining, though soft against the skin, could get wet and sodden in their line of work, soak up blood and mess no matter how high he pulled latex gloves up. "You do very good work."

"As you might expect," the man said reaching for his wrists and drawing them down. "Now, tell me if they feel too tight?"

The cuffs were mechanically snapped shut so that they appeared seamless.

It was funny how he'd gotten used not to having his cuffs tight. More than a few weeks, then, maybe. Gil nodded, and pulled his wrists out of the unlocker, rubbing just below them. "Doesn't feel too tight at all."

"That's good. You might want to consider investing in a sonic cleaner for when you take them off in private," the Jeweler said glancing them over. "There was a lot of... detritus around them. Hazards of the job I suspect."

The implication was that with all of those qualifications, he should take better care of them. Gil managed to look faintly chastised. "Well, I'm in the right place to find a sonic cleaner. Would you prefer to charge my account, or cash?"

"I have your details logged in for the cuffs, I'll put it on account. Take a look here," the Jeweler pointed to a rack of them. "A minute or so in the cleaner and they come up as if you'd paid for a polish."

Gil wandered over to the rack a little, and then smiled faintly at the Jeweler. "How about you just choose one, since this is your specialty? And put it on my account."

"Mr. Grissom, you make my job very easy," the Jeweler said unhesitatingly picking a reasonable sized box up. "This is powerful enough to deal with your job hazards -- and to clean muck off of most things. It's not dissimilar to some of the instruments I believe you use in your work," he said as he passed it over.

It was easy to take the box, trusting for all charges to be above board in the way he only would in his own house. "It's not so different than cleaning bullets, then...?"

"Very similar. You could probably do that on the highest setting but I don't want to hear about that if you do it," the Jeweler said punching in the charge details to an internal computer link. "It is a finely tuned piece of equipment calibrated for gem and precious metal cleansing. You probably have one in your morgue if the professional angle appeals."

"I'm sure our Coroner has somehow turned it into a coffee pot, but I don't doubt that you're right. So is everything settled?" As soon as he knew that the Jeweler had finish charging him, he was going to leave to head for the lab.

"Your account is charged and the transaction has been processed Mr. Grissom. Thank you for your business," the Jeweler said pleasantly. "I'll see you for your next increment."

He managed a smile while the man handed him a bag with a pre-boxed sonic cleaner in it. "Have a good day." It was easy to leave, easy to walk off. He didn't even know the names of most of the people he ran into so often in the House. Just in his department, just the ones he had to.

It hadn't been that way in his previous House.

House Gerard had been small and selective and had run the Investigations department for the Imperial Guard for decades. No one had seriously considered that anyone would want to declare House War on such a specialist House, especially not House Braun whose interests had been up until that time firmly routed in the gambling and entertainment areas. But then Sam Braun had set his sights of becoming a Great House and for that he needed Imperial connections and legitimacy. Gil had woken up one morning to find a House War and a state of Emergency declared.

He lasted three days before he was formally abducted along with several others of his team. It was just as well because the time leading to the deadline had resulted in a bloody showdown as Philip Gerard became desperate and rigged the lab with explosives. It didn't do him or his House and affiliates any good.

The debt that the survivors -- the abducted Freemen and slaves, because those were all who'd really survived usefully -- owed the Imperial guard was heavy, and Sam Braun had bought out at least Gil's for him, 'kindly', and… It still weighed heavy around his wrists, comfortable and familiar as the cuffs he'd just had resized.

There was something safe in being associated with a House, and House Braun wasn't anywhere near to being one of the worst.

Greg would do well in it if the Challenge was won.

---

When everyone else in his shift started to trickle in to work, Gil had already been settled into his office for four hours. There had been that much paperwork for him to catch up on, since the balancing of bureaucratic forces was the least-entertaining part of his job. There was an investigation into rigged gambling books that he had to look at, but it wasn't going anywhere, and the evaluations for his employees…

Were. He had to put them in, and he'd had two weeks to do them already. Procrastination had served him well, since there was time to look through Catherine's recent reports and make note of which ones she'd done outstandingly in. They'd still need to talk, of course…

Talk. Talk was cheap when the actuality of his team's performance -- good or in need of improvement -- was in those reports, was in their records.

His conversation with Hodges had highlighted one thing in his mind. The different in an increment could have a profound difference on their living conditions. So he needed to find time to speak to all of them at some point as well as dealing with the night's crimes and investigations. Make sure that all of them were up on their training and see if there were any opportunities that met their needs and... Be a good supervisor. Gil sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. Well, as soon as they all showed up, or he could hunt them down one by one.

"You're in early," Catherine said, leaning on his open door. "Bucking for another increment, Gil?" She smiled at him.

"I had some time on my hands today." He opened his eyes, quirking an eyebrow at her. Catherine was always easy on the eyes, better kept than the rest of them. Her cuffs were almost always polished, and even when she was harried, she still carried a certain air of beauty. Ruffled beauty, and that was a thought that made him smile a little.

His mind did like to conjure up the most vivid images it possibly could, and there were a few of Catherine that came to mind. "And you're here... just on time. I need to do evaluations today."

"Time to earn that Supervisor bonus, huh?" Catherine stepped inside. "That makes me even gladder that I'm on time. Got to impress the boss."

"And that's a hard feat around here." Gil gestured for her to close the door behind her, and quickly dug out the evaluation that he'd already filled in for her. "I already looked over your recent files, Catherine, I'm up on the technical. What are your goals?"

"My goals? Aside from reducing my triples and getting time to see my daughter sometime?" Catherine shut the door and sat down, comfortable in Grissom's presence. "What's everyone's goals? To pay off someday, to get enough increments to go for the next level up. A shift supervisor maybe." She smiled at him. "Most of the other goals are personal."

"How are the divorce proceedings going...?" Gil tilted his head a little as he wrote down what he guessed he'd be writing down for everyone -- a note that they'd like advancement and a little less overtime.

"Eddie is... being Eddie." Catherine gave an almost predatory grin. "It should be a simple House severance, but he's trying to claim that proportionally he's paid more because his band level is lower than mine. It's complete crap but... he's trying it. He's hoping for less to be put on his buyout total." She looked at him. "Personal questions Gil? I'm impressed."

She would be, and that made the edge of his mouth twitch into a smirk as he eyed her. "What can I say? It's not just all of you who always need to try to improve your rough spots. Anything you particularly want noted in the comments section?"

"That maybe I feel I'm a ready for more responsibility and I have a lot of experience I can put to use," Catherine replied in her forthright manner. "So... how was my evaluation from your side?"

"I think you're ready for more responsibility and you have a lot of experience you can put to use." He was teasing her, but only a little. It was true, and that was why he wasn't going to let Sam Braun's request cheapen the reality of her capability. "I think the next big case we have, I'll do my job and supervise. Sign at the red X."

He turned the sheet of paper around once he finished adding the comment, and offered her his slightly chewed on pen, cuffs catching the dull blue-white gleam of his desk light.

She scribbled her signature and looked up at him. "Looking to impress someone?" she said glancing at his cuffs. "Hot date?"

"With Hodges." He let the pause settle over her before he shook his head and chuckled. "No. I just got them resized, and the House jeweler took pity on me and cleaned them."

"For a moment I nearly thought about calling the House psych on you. Don't do that to me!" Catherine feigned shock. "Hodges... I don't even want to go there."

"Neither do I, but unfortunately I ran into him at the House jeweler so..." Now he acted like Gil was his best buddy, and would be puppy dogging after him tonight. Gil was up to trying to make light of things in his current mood, but wasn't up to openly annoying interaction. "It was apparently a bad day to chase after red tape. Could you send in whoever you happen to find first out in the hallway, Cath?"

"I think I saw Nicky out there trying to get Sanders to stop zooming around on his chair..." Catherine held up a hand. "Just don't ask okay? Long story and possibly involving too much coffee and painkillers."

Painkillers. Gil noted that, tucked it into his mind. "If you could grab both of them and send them in, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing. I'll do some more paperwork until we get our calls for the night," Catherine said getting up again. "Good luck, Gil. You'll need it with some of the lab."

Good luck. No, what he needed to do was coast through the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours and see how things were going to happen. "Thanks. I appreciate the warning."

She smiled again at him, in the easy friendly way that had occasionally led to a little more between them as friends often did, and then left the room.

It wasn't long before a slightly tousled looking Greg knocked hesitantly on his door. "Hey... uh.. hi? Catherine said you wanted to see me?" he said looking around almost as if he was expecting some sort of trap as he stepped inside.

"Yearly reviews." Greg looked almost healthy, even if he was still dealing with his most recent injury. Alive looked good on Greg, Gil decided, even if it was being facilitated by coffee and painkillers. "Pull up a chair."

"For a minute, I thought you were going to say something like, 'Sanders you're fired'," Greg replied looking relieved as he sat awkwardly and uncomfortably. "Called to the boss's office. Scary stuff." He grinned at him as if there was nothing in his life that had ever gone wrong.

And that was how it had gone on under their noses for such a long time. He was too good at being normal... no, not normal. That was not a good way of describing Greg; too good at being 'different' so that it was easy to be convinced.

Different, too happy, too... Something. Always too something so far in the other direction from actually hurt. It made Gil wonder what Greg was like, would be like, if he didn't have to use it as a mask. "I should hope it actually isn't. I've looked over your most recent cases already... Everything seems up to par. I'd like to see you get a few more increments in field work, and a couple of recent cases should qualify you for that once the paperwork has been processed through."

Gil leaned back in his chair slightly, peeking at Greg's face over the top edge of the sheet of paper he was pretending to reread. There was a scrape on the side of Greg's face that disappeared into his sideburn. "Do you enjoy subcontracting here?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg grinned at him in the way that made it seem impossible for him to hold so many gem levels if only through age. "It's great! I get to help get the bad guys, do the truth and justice thing and play with gadgets all shift long. Who wouldn't want that?"

It was the best answer -- not the answer of 'I want to work myself free' or 'I want to advance' or even the 'the pay is great' that he knew he'd get from a few people, but real enthusiasm. Gil dropped his eyes, and picked up his pen to note a paraphrase of Greg's comment. "People who don't have as much fun as you did a couple of weeks ago with the flash paper. Any long-term goals you want to accomplish...?"

"Well, I'm not a long term sort of guy." He made that sound as if it were a choice. "But the fieldwork? I'd really like to get on that while I... have the opportunity."

"Well, the opportunity is always open here. Are you going somewhere...?" Gil managed a faint look at Greg as he set down the piece of paper.

Greg shook his head vigorously. "Not planning to, but..." He shrugged. "Things don't always turn out the way we plan right?"

Gil tented his fingers for a moment, toying with a handful of things he could reply with. It was a short moment, and Greg probably hadn't taken Gil's silence for anything in particular. "It's going to be okay, Greg. Things might not turn out the way we plan, but they often have a way of working out."

"I've heard that," Greg smiled a little tentatively, the implication that it had never been that way for him very obvious.

"Sometimes the way of things just needs a helping hand..." Gil's pager started to buzz where it rested against his belt, and he held the evaluation out to Greg. "Here, look at that, sign at the bottom, ask me whatever questions you might have."

The blue LED screen was almost brighter than his desk light, easy to read. Brass, 419, trn on cell fkr.

Oh, it was going to be an interesting night all right.

Greg signed immediately. "I'm sure that everything is fine. And uh... I'm sorry about the other day. You know, breaking the test tube racks. I just sort of lost my balance a moment."

Gil shifted, and pulled his cell phone out of his other pocket. Of course the very act of turning it off meant that ten people probably realized they had urgently needed to call him. "I know. It's nowhere on the evaluation. It was an easy enough clean up. Do you feel up to some fieldwork tonight?"

"Fieldwork? Sure!" Greg looked wired at the suggestion. It was plain he would make himself up to it one way or the other. "Working a case like Nick and Warrick do?"

Gil held up his pager for a moment while he stood, and let Greg see the screen. "When Jim curses on my beeper, it's usually an interesting body dump. I can't guarantee that it'll be exciting, but..."

"I'm cleared up on the DNA samples. I was picking up some on trace so just a change of scenery would be a breath of fresh air," Greg said enthusiastically. The sheer amount of time he must have spent at work to actually process the backlog of DNA requests was something to make anyone pause for thought. It was almost as if he barely left work. Or at least if he could help it.

Two days. Less now, and for all Gil knew, Sam Braun meant maybe less than two days. Gil flipped open his cell phone, and slid Greg's evaluation into the folder with Catherine's. Four missed messages, all of them from Jim.

It was probably a decomp. Brass had no stomach for that. He flipped through the address book, and dialed. "How long have you been here already?"

"I came in a little early," Greg looked away a little. "Wanted to finish up on Sara's identity theft DB. Matched her eventually on the Imperial register. I don't get why an Imperial was presenting as a Pleasure Slave in one of the worst House areas of Vegas... I mean, that area is not for the kiddies, you know?"

"Maybe that was why she was there, Greg." Gil had been about to say more, but he could hear Brass turning on his phone. He'd hardly gotten out the 'Br' part when Gil cut in. "Jim, it's Grissom. Do we get directions to the 419?"

"Do you need directions in how to turn on your phone?" Jim sounded a little testy. "I've got a body in a kid's park, buried in sand. Only a few hours cold, tops."

"Buried in the sandbox? Give me the location and we'll be out there ASAP." He reached for a pen, and another sheet of paper. It was easy to scrawl out 'tell the slackers in the break room that I'll be there with their sheets in a minute'.

Greg grinned as he took the piece of paper and headed out of Grissom's office towards the break room.

Nothing like an interesting case to liven up a day; Gil smiled to himself as he wrote down the directions, and then listened to Brass give him the heads up on a couple of other cases. In short order, he had the assignment sheets for the night in hand and stalked to the break room to give them out. He could finish getting through evaluations later.

Warned by Greg, Nick and Warrick were gently teasing their DNA tech about going into the field with Grissom, even as Sara chose that moment to get a cup of coffee. Catherine was leafing through some odd pieces of paperwork, grinning at Warrick who was telling their trainee a few stories. "....you gotta be careful, because I had this one time? I had a DB showing toxicity and asphyxiation signs? So I moved her head and opened her mouth. And this mother of all black widow spiders crawled out."

Greg stared. "You're kidding me, right? Guys? He's kidding?"

"You wish," Nick grinned. "We've found pretty much everything in DB's mouths, from rats to snakes to-"

"Sexual organs to plain old food, to the occasional black widow spider. The one Warrick mentions is mounted on my office wall. I'll be trying to do evaluations today, around case schedules, so you might not all get to go home at the strike of eight, all right?" Gil offered a sheet to Warrick. "Sara, I want you to be ready to testify on that ID fraud case. Touch base with the Guard in charge, there's mention that the court date is being stepped up. Catherine, Warrick…"

"Uh-huh?" Warrick turned and looked at him as Catherine put her papers together. "Got something interesting for us?"

"Robbery at a buyout business," Gil told them as he held the sheet out. "One of the owners was making a bank deposit, and was shot and robbed on his way there."

"Sounds reasonably straightforward," Catherine said intercepting the sheet with a smile at Grissom and Warrick. "So you get Nick right?"

"Best behavior, man," Warrick warned with a half smile.

Nick snorted and gave Warrick a look. "Whatever, man. Good luck. So I get to go to the DB with you guys?"

"It sounded like it might need more than two people to work it. Greg, grab your kit and your camera."

"Cool." Greg said and moved with enough speed to dart off down to his lab to get his equipment to show that he was genuinely enthusiastic about going out in the field.

"You're going to survive Hurricane Greg on a crime scene?" Sara asked even as she got up as well.

Gil wandered over to the coffee pot, reaching for the travel mug he took with him. It was always worth leaving in the Tahoe because the desert nights were deceptively cold, and working a scene was deceptively tiring. "He's shown an interest in wanting to do more field work, and we can always use the help."

"Well as long as there are no racks of test tubes handy, you should be safe," Sara commented. "Or anything fragile." She pushed her sleeves up absently, showing the glitter of her cuffs for a brief moment as if by accident as she put her cup on the side. "If anyone needs me, I'll be reviewing evidence."

On her way out, she had to brush past Greg, who seemed to have been standing in the door silently. It wasn't likely he was fast enough to get down there and back in time to hear her comments but...

But. But Gil knew what Sara was doing, trying to do. She'd had trouble adjusting to the house change, and trouble adjusting to Vegas, and trouble adjusting to Gil, well...

He filled the mug three-fourths of the way up with coffee, added a little creamer and sugar, then screwed the lid on. "Man, must be that time of the month for her," Nick sighed. "I've got my kit in the car, Griss -- you want me to take Greg, or...?"

"Hey, I don't want to put anyone out," Greg replied in a more subdued voice. "It's okay. I can find my own way there or stay in the lab, whatever. Whatever is best for you guys."

Gil turned slightly, and cocked an eyebrow at Greg. "Greg. You're doing your job. No one is being put out. Nick, I want you to follow me, all right? I'll take Greg."

The other Investigator nodded. "Sure thing, Griss," he said as moved out.

Greg moved in closer to Grissom and allowed a hesitant grin to reemerge. "Come on." Gil hated having to be careful, having to keep in the back of his mind that people needed to be handled better than he naturally handled them. He'd irked most of them at one time or another.

But at least Catherine and Warrick and Nick... He could guess what he'd done wrong, even if he might make the same mistake again. Sara was unpredictable. "I know you worked that bus accident with Nick a few months ago."

"Yeah, yeah. The pagers said everyone come in with metal and above and...." Greg glanced down at the cuffs he usually kept pretty hidden from sight out of some bizarre habit. "And even though I don't have much on working in the field, I tried to help out." He looked worried a moment. "I don't know how much help I was. I mostly took his notes."

"Sometimes, that's plenty of help. It was a busy scene." Gil pushed open the back door of the department, and half-held it open for Greg. His own kit was still in the back of his vehicle, and all that Gil was carrying was the assignment sheet and his travel mug.

Greg was limping slightly as he paced him, pushing through. "Well I don't want to screw up anything, especially on a DB."

"We all have to start somewhere. Do you think I was born knowing how to work a crime-scene?" It was hard not to smirk a little when he said that, if just because he knew some people had certainly shared that opinion before.

"Well, yeah actually," Greg grinned. "I have this mental image of Baby Grissom in diapers waving a swab around. If I tested your DNA, I bet there would be some sort of Investigator pair of alleles there." He peeked a little bit up and sideways at Grissom, obviously checking to see if the other man thought he was a complete idiot.

"It might be a scientific breakthrough," Gil smirked faintly as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. "What I'm trying to say is that all of us make mistakes, and should be constantly learning new things in the field. Sara… occasionally forgets that fact. And it's going to reflect on her evaluation."

Greg looked alarmed. "You're going to mark her down because of.... Hey, no she had a good point. I can be pretty clumsy and I'd hate to screw things up with a stupid mistake."

He had obviously heard a fair portion of what had been said.

"What she said in the break room isn't a solitary incident, Greg." Gil paused a moment to unlock the car, and gestured gently for Greg to go around the side and get in the passenger side.

"I thought Warrick said he wasn't going to..." Greg saw Grissom's face and tried to cover by fumbling for the door. "Uh, never mind. Right, well Sara's ...Sara, right?"

Warrick wasn't going to tell Gil something. Something which he clearly hadn't told Gil. Something that probably had to do with Sara. "That's no excuse for having that attitude." Gil waited until Greg had gotten in the Tahoe with him, and the doors were closed, until he started up the engine. Greg's kit was department issued, and he hadn't done much to make it his own, unlike most of them.

"She's good at what she does," Greg replied rather obscurely defending her, absently massaging at the thigh muscles on his left leg as he fastened the seat-belt and stowed the kit.

Gil half-checked to see that he was settled in, then twisted to look behind him as he backed up. "No one is debating that. But you see, as a supervisor, I have to make sure that everyone does their jobs and allows others to do the same."

"She hasn't stopped me doing mine," Greg said, seemingly determined to make sure she wasn't blamed for anything. "DNA is rocking. Backlog done, place under control."

"She's giving you a hard time unnecessarily. Investigating isn't a competitive sport." Gil stayed with his arm over the back of Greg's chair for a moment, and then turned around once he'd backed out of the spot. He could see the headlights of Nick's Denali across the parking lot, ready to follow them.

Greg smiled a little at that and looked like he was going to blurt a comment and then hastily edited it. "Right. Got it. Just as well, because I suck at competitive sports."

"Most of us do. That's why we're going to look at a dead body instead of asleep or getting ready for a League game, mm?" The smile that he caught sight of in the rear view mirror before he adjusted it was nice, and small talk was suspiciously easy to make with Greg.

"Yeah. Hey, you remember that League game a few months where they discovered an unregistered Meta on the team?" Greg asked just talking easily and about anything that jumped into his head. "They practically evacuated the stadium."

"I bet the investigation team in Dallas had a great time figuring out how he'd gone so long without being tagged as a Meta." To say that a Meta-human in normal league sport unevened the odds was an understatement. There were so many types and kinds, and even if he hadn't been a spectacular Meta, if he was unregistered there was the risk inherent of not having knowledge of what he was capable of doing.

Or she. Gil still remembered when one had been discovered in House Braun's Pleasure Slaves.

A teleporter, she'd turned out to be -- a fact only discovered when she had been performing duties uncuffed and reacted instinctively to an emergency. Next thing they knew, there had been an Imperial Abduction before Sam Braun had chance to move her to a high security House facility, and though he'd tried, getting her back within the time limit from the Imperial forces was pretty much impossible.

Last he'd heard, she was a Imperial Military Slave Meta, and most likely would be that for the rest of her life. Hell of a change from Pleasure Slave to Military Assassin.

"Well, a lot of genetic conditions need certain conditions or body development to kick in, you know? Or an interaction between environmental factors to demonstrate any measurable effect." Greg replied. "This talk about the Imperial Law 14 and genetic code scanning at birth for Meta-genes is ridiculous. Meta-states can come out of interaction of gene pairs not just one Meta-gene identifier." He was surprisingly animated. "And where do you draw the line? I mean would being really really intelligent become regarded as a Meta-state? If not... how is it any different to stopping an unfair advantage over an arbitrary genetic normal?"

"I think as it is, Greg, the line is pretty clear cut. Passing through walls is fairly different than being naturally strong or smart. It's a leap above and beyond." Gil cleared his throat slightly. "And, we're really in no position to make decisions about it."

"Yes, but to them, what they do is natural," Greg frowned. "Though I did hear there was experimentation with some sort of Meta-genic agent. I just think people freak about the danger that some Metas pose too much. Because... being condemned to no buy out ever because you can... I don't know, change the color of your hair at will is overkill. I can understand it for the big names, you know?"

"So where do you draw the line between small names and big names?"

"Well... Kal-El of House Wayne? Obviously if he went off the deep end, we're talking serious threat to the world," Greg said. "Or the Spiderman of House Osbourn even. He could do damage. But there's no way of distinguishing between them and those declared 'Meta' who have minor abilities. There should be some sort of process." It was making the car journey go quickly at least.

Greg was more entertaining to listen to than the radio.

Gil glanced in the rearview, and made sure that Nick was still behind them, roughly, before he glanced to make sure he was turning down the right street. Traffic was still a little heavy, and there was a red light up ahead. "I'm sure that there is. There's a process for everything, after all."

"No... no, see everyone thinks that, but there isn't," Greg replied with animated fervor. "It really boils down to a binary judgment. Are they a Meta? Yes, No? The stability mentally speaking doesn't really come into it. I mean, everyone's seen a few interviews with Kal-El and... he's just not the type of guy to go off on a loop, you know? But then you have others with a lesser talent who's predisposition to instability would make them far more dangerous to the public." He seemed to realize he was babbling a bit. "Sorry. I get a bit... carried away."

"You're more than allowed to. Everyone has an opinion on something, and I have to say that you make a very good argument. I have some opinions about House Wars that probably run opposite of most people." It was an interesting thing, and it left Gil wondering if, maybe somewhere along the line, Greg had known someone tagged Meta.

"Yeah?" Greg looked at him with a genuine interest. "What's that?"

"Well, just as much as I'm sure you'd like a hand in setting limitations on who's a Meta, I'd like there to be some changes to at what point a Freeman can be pulled into a House War."

"Oh yeah. Catherine told me you paid out early and got pulled in again," Greg said sounding sympathetic. "Does... it make it worse having been free and being back in it?"

The steering wheel was comfortable to grip at. He'd been driving that vehicle for about three years now, and he'd worn the leather shiny in spots. Gil's hands clutched a little, and he knew Greg couldn't see the gesture in the lack of light. "Yes and no."

"See, I would have expected a 'shit, yeah' there," Greg replied frankly. "You get Freeman privileges and have to give them back. I can't even imagine that. "

"I try not to. I'm probably going to die before I'm able to buy out again. And to be honest, I did the same thing when I was free as I do now. This is the best job ever."

"Yeah," Greg agreed with that. "Guess we're in the same boat. Helps to have a job that you really like."

"It does. How many years until you buy out?" Greg was smart, and Gil had done it himself while relatively young.

Greg looked uncomfortable and shrugged. "Uh... I probably won't," he admitted after a moment. "It's kind of a weird deal."

"How weird?" Gil tipped his head a little, making it clear that Greg had his attention despite that his eyes were on the road.

"My folks were ocean-runners. Hopped the Atlantic from Norway before I was born." He shrugged again. "You know what happens with that sort of thing."

People ended up in bad houses like House Wesker. 'Traditional', which Gil thought was a thinly veiled way to say abusive or occasionally criminally stupid. "Yes, but there's always some chance for advancement..."

"My... Poppa Olaf, my grandfather got sick and...." Greg swallowed a little. "I did a deal saying I would work his debt if they would let him be bought out by a House with decent medical care. They were going to let him die so they jumped at it. I'm... possibly their highest single legitimate earner."

Not for long. Of course, if he said anything to Greg, and it fell through... He didn't want to get his hopes up. Not by accident. "I'm going to pretend 'legitimate' was a slip of the tongue."

Greg smiled a little. "Yeah. Slip of the tongue."

"It will get better, Greg." Gil leaned to look a little left, and caught sight of flashing lights. "And here's our scene..."

Greg's expression as he looked at the scene showed very clearly that he thought Grissom didn't have a clue but he thought the optimism was a nice touch. "Right. What do you want me to do? Take notes?"

Gil drove up onto the grass, and parked about twenty five feet back from the scene, taking in the sight of the cop cars around the taped-off playground sets. "Process."

"Process. Right." Greg was giving him a lot of uncertain looks. "I'll just.... process." He waited for the cars to come to a halt and got himself and his kit out of the Tahoe, banging his leg and treating Gil to some mumbled Norwegian swearing as he straightened up.

"Hey. We've got a body in a sandbox tonight?"

Gil paused and reached into the back to get his kit and his flashlight out. "Yes. Now let me look at the scene and we'll see how we're going to tackle it."

Brass was looking a little more svelte then he had been a few months before when an Imperial physical put him on a hated diet and physical training program or risk him losing his annual Freeman bonus. Jim decided misery loved company and had dragged Grissom in on the effort, even though no one was going to complain if he couldn't chase down a suspect.

Lack of donut sugar made Jim a little more irritable than usual, and it made Grissom smile as the three Investigators assembled at the edge of the sand pit, examining their options. The victim's face was half exposed, as if she had just laid down to sleep there, and pulled a blanket of sand to curl over her body.

Gil started to circle around the victim, flashlight skimming over the ridges and edges of the sand, touching where footprints and hand prints had packed down the sand. It was heaped up around her. "Jim? We need lights set up around the perimeter. Nicky..."

"Body dump," Nick tsked as he looked at it. "Too perfect, too clean a site."

"Who found her?" Greg asked, hanging back just a bit until one of the others instructed him where to go and what to do.

"Two kids making out in the park after dark. They're from House Wynn, and finding a body wasn't in their plans for this evening," Jim noted. "Thousands of square miles of desert, and someone chooses here to dump her."

"Textbook. David? I want this one special processed once we get her out."

"Yes, sir," the coroner nodded and stepped away even as Gil got out his high powered flashlight and started examining the area very carefully.

Greg moved closer to Nick, watching Grissom in process. "What's he doing?" he asked in what he thought was a low voice.

"Thinking," Nick whispered. It made Gil's mouth quirk a little; it wasn't quite worth acknowledging. There were no boot or shoe prints that he could see.

"Ah." Greg was quiet for a little longer. "How long does the 'thinking' usually take?"

"Until I've worked out how to get to the evidence without actually destroying it." Greg didn't have time to feel chastised, because Nick murmured something to him with real quiet for once.

Gil heard the words 'tar' and 'face' and grimaced internally at the memory of the look on Catherine's face after he'd accidentally collapsed that DB's skull.

He heard an, "Oh," and then Greg fell silent again, his eyes darting around picking up details and trying to stay alert for when he was needed.

"Nicky? Greg? We're going to need mesh screens and buckets." They'd have to go carefully, and work a little wider than he'd have preferred in another substance. Maybe eight inches out from her, and hopefully the sand would slough away from her body, taking little evidence with it.

"There's a whole lot of sand to sift, Greggo," Nick said. "I've got some that we can start with in my car."

Greg looked at him mildly astonished. "You keep mesh screen on you? But..."

"You just learn to be prepared, man." Nicky laughed, and that was a good sound to hear while Gil knelt down outside of the perimeter. He could hear clanking, the high powered lights that they'd need being set up. It was easier to work in the dark than it was to wait for light to come and heat to rot their victim.

It was going to be a long night.

---

Ordinarily, Sam Braun did not negotiate with his House members for a Challenge. They had to be submitted through the proper channels, assessed by lawyers, and usually a profit and loss equation determined whether they were worth going for.

Ordinarily, even Sam Braun steered clear of House Wesker for all they were a smaller less successful House. They were more brutal in their politics and in the event of a House War, less likely to play the game on subtleties and rampage roughshod, killing every member they could find of their opposing house. Conservation of resources was not a watchword of theirs. He'd had regular assessments done on his contractors as a matter of course, and he recognized the name Greg Sanders. High Status but not recommended for Challenge because of the nature of his House. Too much risk.

However, when Gil Grissom defied convention and came to him, he saw an opening for opportunity. The man, even though he didn't realize it, had put himself in the position of providing a willing 'favor' that would net him the goodwill of a very powerful Imperial Judge. That was something he absolutely had to have if he was to get his House named as a Great House and have access to the Imperial Court.

He had toyed with ordering Grissom as one of his House-bonded Slaves to perform as he wished, which was his right, but for it to really work, it had to be willing. His apparent grudging munificence had been a sham. Beneath the canny exterior, Sam had been snapping at the bait, just as he hoped this dignitary would when he outed it to him. He certainly looked bored enough at this function that he would be interested in anything.

"Judge Millander, I haven't seen you since... when was it? The conference at the Rampart. How are you?"

Paul had a faint smile, and he lowered his glass of wine down for a second. He'd been milling around, clinging to the walls in between bouts of quiet polite hellos between his drinks. "I'm well, Mr. Braun. You look healthy."

"I'd say clean living, but that would be a lie," Sam replied with a smile. "These functions usually make me want to catch up on my rest."

He would have declined the invitation completely if he hadn't heard Paul Millander was on the guest list. "I must congratulate you on managing to put the Peacecraft-Khushrenada House War to bed. That adjudication has been going on years."

"Closest one yet. Two points more in favor of House Peacecraft." Millander finished off his drink and casually passed it off on a waiter who was walking by. "I was frankly tired of seeing them in my court."

"I don't blame you. I believe my Investigator team contributed to that decision?" Sam asked directing the conversation as naturally as possible.

"Once they got around to freeing up Mr. Grissom for a consultancy." There was a slowness to the way he said that, that made Sam feel faintly uneasy. Gil worked in that court a lot because Sam wanted to put his best foot forward in Imperial matters. His best team players, and he held up on the stand before House lawyers in ways that even Catherine was a little shaky about.

Well, Catherine was young. She'd have that kind of experience soon. "How is your Investigations lab?"

"Doing well. Targets more than met." he smiled congenially. "Gil is rather impressive. I seem to remember you commenting on that when we were having a few drinks at the Rampart." He tried to make the comment light as if it didn't matter too much.

But it did. It was baiting, sure, but it was more subtle than having Gil delivered chained up with a bow around his neck to the Judge's front door. He was sure that would please some level of the man's odd sense of humor.

Millander smiled faintly, something playing behind his dark blue eyes before he replied. He was a hard man to read, because he seemed genial enough, perpetually open to conversation. "I guess that was a few too many drinks."

Sam tilted his drink as if half accusing it of being responsible by alcoholic association. "For curiosity's sake, how serious were you?"

There was that something again. "Very."

"It happens that Mr. Grissom owes me a... favor," Sam smiled at him again. "I'm not... interested in collecting personally from him, but I would hate to lose out on the debt."

He had him. Sam could tell from the way Millander's eyes dropped a little, contemplating some distant point, that he had the man. "I see. How much debt are you talking about...?"

"Significant," Braun replied having to be careful about this. If he underplayed it, then the commensurate favor owed back if Millander was interested would be meaningless. "Enough to provide you with perhaps the... reality of certain ideas you expressed."

They were certainly things that Sam had no interest in himself. He liked his ladies, both just to look at and to have sex with. There hadn't been any time in Sam's life where he'd looked at another man and thought 'I'd like to fuck that'.

Not even drag queens, though one of his boys had made it a running joke to try to trick Sam. It wouldn't ever work, not when he was a connoisseur of women. Of course, Millander had expressed interest in Gil that was far from prurient.

His eyebrows went up a little. "Really."

Braun took a shot more of his drink. "Really. Naturally I thought of you, otherwise I would have found some other way to collect."

Otherwise, he wouldn't have made the deal at all. Of course, there was clearly some less-than professional interest that Gil had about that Sanders kid, and wouldn't that just make the situation more interesting?

"So you're... seriously planning to extend that to me?"

"Let's be honest here, Paul," Sam said dropping his voice into a low friendly tone. "The goodwill and connections of an Imperial Judge with a reputation like yourself would be... useful to House Braun. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. Though I didn't plan or arrange for this to happen, when an opportunity comes my way I'm willing to make use of it. Otherwise House Braun wouldn't be the dominant House in Vegas. It's a serious offer... if you're interested."

"You run your businesses and your House with admirable cleanliness." Millander shifted his stance, and slipped his hands comfortably into his pants pockets. "I'm interested, Sam. I've always admired your House's even handed ruthlessness. I want this to be worth my while, though."

"What did you have in mind?" Sam asked on more familiar ground now with negotiations.

Millander gestured with his eyebrows, before he wandered over towards the far wall. "I'd like to have him as a Personal for long enough to make any training worth the effort. Two, three weeks?"

"I can agree to a Personal. From what I recall, his increments there are basic, though I believe his theory was excellent," Braun replied. "But I can't afford for him to be out of action for two or three weeks. A week maximum and that's stretching it. He learns swiftly."

"With the possibility of more," Paul cut in. "I don't really care what his increments are in the area. Sometimes a beautiful mind is more than enough."

"One week, Judge. One 'willing' week where he will apply himself as a Personal. With no permanent damage." He raised his eyebrows. "I won't jeopardize one of my best people. But if he should ask for more favors, then yes... the possibility for future arrangements."

Millander's eyebrows crawled up a little. "Why would I permanently damage him? I'll have to work with him on a semi-regular basis afterwards."

"I've known enthusiasm to get the better of even the most experienced gambler when they finally get what they want," Braun replied in a relaxed tone. "And I admit, most of the people I deal with don't have such refined tastes as yourself."

Refined. Hopefully Millander wouldn't read deeper into the remark, though he had some thoughts about just what kind of refinement Millander had. After all, not many men actually claimed Death-Marks. It was good for society of course, but he remembered when his Lab had been investigating one Death-Mark claiming that had been staged as a suicide. Catherine had expressed nothing but astonishment that all of that work had just been for a Death-Mark that they hadn't been sure was real at first.

Paul smiled at him. "I promise to return your property in fine shape."

"Gil Grissom has an international reputation; I was luckier than I ever have been at the roulette wheel to have him in House by a quirk of fate," Sam Braun commented. "So. When would be convenient for you?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and pulled away to snag a fresh drink from one of the circulating waiters. "I have some personal time off of the circuit starting the day after tomorrow." Reward for settling that long-fought war between Peacecraft and Khushrenada, Sam knew. "Is that convenient for you?"

"I believe that will be just fine..." Sam said thoughtfully. Even with the dire threat of an ass-kicking from the dizzy heights of his office, they wouldn't be able to put together a Challenge bid before three days. Once issued, the combat -- and he knew House Wesker would opt for combat as they couldn't compete on finances, or intellectual Challenge -- could be called at any time. That would be long enough to see if Grissom was falling in with the plan. "I'll inform Mr. Grissom of your... request. Anything specific you want me to send him with?"

"Send him with?"

"Equipment? Clothing? We have a very well stocked and developed Training area. Our current Lady Courtesan is... inventive." Sam twitched an amused smile. "She has an excellent reputation among other Houses. We often hold master classes and seminars."

That brought a smirk to the edges of Paul's mouth. "Maybe some sufficient restraints and a Personal collar."

"I'll ask him to see her and bring something suitable with him," Sam replied smiling back feeling the rush of a deal closing. "It's in my interest to ensure that you're well pleased with this arrangement after all."

"Oh, I'm sure that I'll be very well pleased. Contact me when he's ready, mm? I'm being waved at by Wynn's asinine wife."

Sam Braun nodded. "A pleasure talking to you, Judge Millander," he said stepping away. "You're right, we should... mingle."

He would be leaving as soon as possible now he had accomplished what he came here to do. It might be a little awkward for Grissom, but the man had asked for a favor, and Sam Braun knew he would see it through just as he'd always known who would fold and who would bluff.

There would be no regrets from his side of the bargain. No matter what, he won all the way around.

Paul nodded back faintly, and then headed off, taking another sip of his wine.

New technician who wouldn't be coming in to work beat up, all in all a good house acquisition, and Catherine's promotion, and the favor of a judge. And maybe it would knock Grissom down a notch, since he was the kind of man who'd try to personally request a Challenge.

The House always won their bets.

---

The morgue was definitely Robbins's domain, and he did sometimes like to play to an audience. Right now, he had three of the team's Investigators hanging on his every word. "She died two to four hours before she was discovered," he said. "The jury is still out on cause of death, but considering the whip and ligature marks and the fact that there's evidence of scar tissue, I'd be tempted to say she was a Pleasure Slave in maybe one of the fetish Houses."

"If she'd died there and it was known about, we wouldn't be investigating her at a city park," Gil pointed out. "Have any Houses reported a missing or possible runaway yet?"

"It's a bit soon," Nick replied even as Greg leaned over to take a close look at the body

"Isn't she kind of high maintenance for a standard Pleasure Slave?" Greg said leaning in closer and widening his eye at the sight of artificially perky breasts making a mockery of the flaccidity of death. He nodded at them, "I mean some of the Houses might spring for those puppies, but they don't usually put out for the manicure, pedicure and full beauty treatment." He looked around suddenly a little embarrassed. "Uh, sorry."

Gil cocked an eyebrow at Greg, and let his mind wander a little. "And she does look like she was lavished in care. So, Greg... She has manicured fingers and toes, bruising that's blossomed post mortem, scars... Al, do we have any signs of rape here?"

"Well, that's the strange thing," the coroner replied. "She hasn't had sexual intercourse in some time... which is pretty odd for a Pleasure Slave."

"That's more a hard-line Personal," Greg put in again. "It's not necessarily about the sex."

Greg was a little too-too familiar with that, but Gil stayed intrigued about the extra knowledge. "Huh. So a Personal slave that hasn't had sex in a while, who somehow ended up dead in a sandbox. Which means accidental death, a very unlikely situation."

Nick was watching them both as he agreed. "We can find out who she is through the implants. Catherine told me they're all serialized. Some Houses put trackers in them. Can we get one of them, Al?"

He smirked faintly, and gestured with his scalpel at each while he spoke. "Left or right?"

"Dealer's choice," Nick replied treating Greg to a quiet grin. "Greg here's got some results on your trace, Grissom. Should be about done now, right?"

"Yeah." Greg perked up at the attention. "Yeah, I left them running."

"I'm sure that Hodges has gotten into them now." It struck Gil, then, that it was Greg's first autopsy -- even if they'd missed the cutting, it didn't seem to bother him. Not even an aborted attempt to vomit when Robbins started to slice through dead flesh to excise one saline implant. "The metal sliver I found goes along with the fetish Personal slave theory."

"That sparkly stuff you found on the body should be processed now," Greg said helpfully even as Al peeled back the fat around one breast and pulled out the sack. He rinsed it off.

"All yours, Nick."

"Great. Now I just have to wait for the local plastic surgeons to drag their asses out of bed." Nick waited for Al to finish screwing on the plastic lid.

"Nicky, start looking for what doctor had purchased that breast, and then I want you to meet me in your office for your review. Greg..." Gil turned away from Al as he closed up the breast, settling the now noticeably smaller breast together before he re-stitched it. "Let's see about that 'sparkly stuff'."

"Gotcha," Nick nodded even as Greg started heading out toward the lab and Al exchanged a look with Grissom that spoke volumes about how surprised he was that Greg's autopsy virginity had passed without a murmur or even an abortive heave.

Gil could only raise his eyebrows a little, and give his friend a rolling shrug of his shoulders before he followed after Greg. It didn't take much to catch up with him in the hallway.

"For your first autopsy, you reacted better than I was expecting.:"

"Not as bad as I thought," Greg replied, limping a little bit more noticeably as they walked. "I was worse at the crash site, I think."

"Maybe. Most Investigators throw up at their first autopsy." He broached that gently, peering at Greg as he well into step with him.

"It was my first... formal autopsy," Greg replied deliberately not looking at him as he turned the corner towards his lab. "I've seen similar stuff before."

"People laid out on metal slabs and cut up?" Gil tilted his head a little.

"In a manner of speaking," Greg shrugged. "One of the Weskers is a Death-Mark hunter." It didn't explain exactly how he was there to know about it, but it explained some of it. Perhaps Greg was just saying that he had to clear up afterwards.

"Really?" Gil wondered which one hunted the Death-Marks. The kind of people who did that, well. Just weren't his type of person. Killing was killing to Gil, House War or not, Death-Marked or not. It wasn't what he liked to do or see.

It was what he liked to investigate and find out facts about. "A person fairly high in the house?"

Greg nodded but didn't elaborate as he stepped into the lab and reach over to his computer. "And we have a result from the library. Tempered steel with aluminum coating for the metal, and... tree sap, ammonia and water."

Tree sap ammonia and water? Some kind of gum thing, or... "So, it was rubbery?" The sand could have leeched at the pliability of it, Gil supposed.

"Liquid Latex," Greg declared with a air of certainty and a hint of familiarity.

"Liquid... Latex?" Huh, like latex paint, which really didn't ever stand up to wear and tear like the commercials said.

"You haven't heard of it?" Greg looked up at him his eyes bright. "It's all the craze right now, guys paint it on girls, girls paint it on guys... you can even paint it on yourself wanna, if that what you're into and you can't raise the bucks for a Pleasure Slave." He trailed off. "Like I would know."

Gil smirked faintly to himself. "It's cheaper than a Pleasure Slave, if that's what you're into. So... Liquid latex. Metal. Scars. Well tended girl with teeth, toes and nails all intact. I think that the breast Nicky has will lead him to a fetish Personal in one of the better Houses."

"Sounds about right," Greg nodded. " Chains and liquid latex and no sex is more about the Personals rather than Pleasure Slaves, though the boundaries sort of overlap sometimes." He was giving too much away, and every now and then he seemed to realize it. "So... uh, what's next? Go bug Nick?"

"We wait." Gil's eyebrows went up a little. "Take a lunch break, get comfortable. We'll be pulling a double."

"Cool, " Greg nodded. "Looks like Catherine and Warrick have been in. I'll put their stuff through."

The offer he'd been about to make about lunch died on his tongue, and he inclined his head slightly. Another day, another twenty four hours, give a little, take a little. "Take it easy, Greg. You did good work tonight. I'll make note of it."

The younger man leaned on the side and looked up at him genuine effortless smile. "Does that go in my evaluation?"

"Under 'taking preliminary steps towards gem certifications in field work'." Gil took the case folder with the Trace details in hand, and tapped it lightly against his thigh. Time to go or he'd seem more suspicious than he already did. Gil glanced over the top of Greg's workspace, and then turned away.

"Grissom?" Greg waited until he was nearly at the door. "Uh... thanks. For the field training and this case."

"Don't thank me for giving you more work than you usually have." Gil gave a faint wave before he headed back to his office. He could fill out the rest of the evaluations, and wait for Nick to get them a name and a residence.

Once that happened, they wouldn't have time to break for a while.

---

If there was the one problem about working night shift, it was working around the normal people, the people who got out of bed at seven a.m., made breakfast, and then rolled into work around eight or nine and started their day when Gil's team was already haggard and worn and edging up on coffee poisoning.

It was the waiting, the catching up on backlog and making sure that all the Is were dotted and the Ts were crossed that made the waiting bearable. Well, that and finishing up evals.

Nick's evaluation was generally reasonably easy to do. He had a calm and easy presence that made him second to none when dealing with distressed people on scene but he was still trying to do things the 'Grissom Way' as opposed to finding his own.

It made Gil's mouth compress as he looked over at Nick across from him at the desk. There were the stock questions, but they could be pretty revealing about his team. "What're your long-term goals, Nick?"

"My long term goals? For my brothers and sisters to start earning themselves out," Nick replied still smiling. "Otherwise, I want to be trusted to work a DB alone. Get that experience. I've got pretty much the same increments as Sara... but..."

Gil could see Nick's smile falter, and he adjusted his reading glasses slightly as he sat back in his chair. Being farsighted was an interesting curse, and the best excuse ever for dealing with as little paperwork as possible in his life. "You'll get the experience when you're ready for it."

"But I've done things the way you've set out, I've got a load of experience. If I'm not ready, I... can't see why I'm not ready," Nick said, with the nearest thing to sounding a little put out that he could muster. He obviously felt strongly about it.

And of course he would. It was his career and his hopes and dreams. Of course he'd feel strongly about it. "Nicky, repeat after me. Cuff, cuff, cuff."

Nick did so. "Cuff cuff cuff...?"

Gil formed his next question carefully. "How does satin feel?"

Nick replied immediately and instinctively "Roug--" And then he realized what he had said. "No, smooth."

Gil tipped his head slightly. "You've been getting better, Nicky. But you're still not quite..."

It was hard not to stop mid-sentence when his phone beeped softly, vibrating slightly in his pocket. "That's probably Brass. Could you look over my comments and then sign at the bottom?"

The chagrinned Investigator nodded. "Sure," he said, sounding a little subdued. He was busy reading even as Grissom answered the phone.

"Grissom." He hadn't taken the time to look at Caller ID, but of course it was Brass. It was ten a.m. Who else would be calling him then?

~"Mr. Grissom, Sam Braun, regarding our discussion..."~ The Head of House Braun spoke with authority that demanded his attention.

Gil turned his back to Nicky then, and walked a few paces away to inspect some of the things he had mounted on his office wall. Certificates and insects that were carefully preserved, delicate carapaces pinned carefully. Some of them were so old that they'd probably crumble if he removed the glass and touched his fingers over oil-slick glimmery shells.

"Yes, sir?"

~"You'll take leave effective from the end of the shift. Tonight you'll go to the Lady Courtesan of House Braun. I've arranged this. Judge Paul Millander is taking the favor for me. For seven days, you'll be his willing Personal Bond-Slave understand? He's expressed an interest in you in the past. This will clear your debt for the Challenge."~

"The..." Gil's perspective slipped out from under his feet for a moment, and he almost had to remember to breath. "This current shift, or the one that just ended?"

~"The one that just ended."~ Sam Braun replied. ~"Seven days of cooperation for the well-being of Greg Sanders. He'll do well in House Braun."~

Seven days of cooperation with Imperial Judge Millander, after he visited the Lady Courtesan. A Personal Bond slave. Fuck. Fuck, and if Nicky weren't there, he might have let himself have some physical reaction.

Except he couldn't. Couldn't hit anything, couldn't do anything but breathe and look at his bugs and not say anything. "I agree. Thank you for your time, sir."

~"You're welcome Gil. I'm sure you'll cooperate fully. I've cleared the time off, so don't worry about that."~

"I appreciate that, too. I'll..." He tipped his head back a little. He needed to go home and sleep. "Everything will go the way it should. Good day, sir."

~"Good day, Mr. Grissom."~ And the phone clicked dead along with any hope of a reprieve.

So that was the second thing. Gil turned his phone off because he really needed to wait for the call from Brass, but he was also two hours over shift and he had to sleep. He had to go home and take time to steel himself not to screw it up so that Greg got his chance.

"Nicky?" Gil turned around slowly to glance at the Investigator that he knew was still there.

The other man was watching him intently. There were not many people that Grissom called 'sir', so it had to be a call from higher up. "Sir?"

How to phrase it? He didn't want them knowing, though he hated to lie to them. "I've been given some personal time to work on a consultancy. Master Braun wants me to start tomorrow, so... I'm going to leave this case in your very capable hands, with Greg to help."

Nick frowned. "But you just told me that..." He hesitated a moment. "Okay Griss. Greg and me..." It was a helluva break and he knew it. "We'll do the job right."

After all, it wasn't a real position reversal. Nick wouldn't be working the case solo, he'd be working it with Greg, who'd probably need someone looking after him once the Challenge was declared. Gil pocketed his cell phone. "Good luck. Tell Catherine that she's acting Supe. I'm already running behind, so..."

"I understand. When the Master says jump, you just hope there's a crash mat," Nick replied, still looking a little concerned. "We'll try not to wreck the lab."

"Great. I'd hate to come back and find this place a mess." Maybe Catherine would take care of his extra paperwork for him. Gil reached for his briefcase, and secretly hoped for that, at least. He could handle a week as a Personal, right?

He'd handled years of the worst that human beings could do to each other. Seven days was just... time.

It was rather strange for Nick to look so worried at him just from that hint of conversation he must have heard. Maybe it had been the 'sir' or the timing of it. Gil quirked his eyebrows as he started to make sure that all of his office work was actually there on the desk for Catherine to handle. He was actually taking work out of it instead of putting it into his briefcase.

It didn't really matter. He might as well leave his briefcase there, but that would have looked too suspicious for him to be off consulting.

"You'll do fine."

"Catherine would kick our collective asses if we didn't," Nick smiled a little. "Must be a pretty important consultancy to pull you mid case."

"Imperial court." A point of pride for Gil, except it felt less so this time. He rifled his drawer quickly, grabbed some of his research so it would seem like he wanted to keep busy in his free time.

Nick raised his eyebrows a moment. "I get it," he said finally. "You need anything from here just call and we'll put a rush on."

"If the need arises, I'll call the lab." It didn't take long. He could pack up his life in a matter of moments, fast like that despite that Nick was watching. "Good luck with the case. You'll have to call Brass yourself..."

He'd lingered too much already. Time to run for it.

"I'll take care of it Griss," Nick replied standing as well. "Good luck okay?"

"Thank you." It was easy to feign a smile then, because all he had to do was think about the fact that very soon, Greg would be out of a horrible situation. Very soon, one of his people would be safe.

For that, seven days was a small price to pay.

---

Sleep had daunted him, and eventually, after contemplating taking pills for it, Gil had decided just to drop by the establishment of the House's Lady Courtesan. He was rattling towards exhaustion, and if he could just push himself that little bit further, do that one, two, maybe three extra things, he could push himself over the edge.

An impromptu lesson on a side of life that hadn't ever been his would be a learning experience and a Challenge, and driving there and back to his apartment again would be the little extra that would let him collapse asleep in his familiar bed in his familiar home, with his familiar books and insects and faint city-sounds that drifted up from the three floors below him.

Her establishment, a Freewoman run business with House Braun Affiliation from what Gil could tell, was well kept. The architectural style was old, a stretch back in time from the clean bricks and the sharp metal lines that style favored today. The siding was wood, or a good imitation thereof, not plastic.

Gil was glad that he'd parked around the back of the lot.

He was surprised when the door was opened by the Lady Courtesan herself. The impact of her presence and sexuality was immediate, making sure all attention was focused on her and the way she moved. Something about her spoke to the primal parts of his brain despite the fact he generally considered himself to be reasonably asexual.

"Mr. Grissom. I've been expecting you."

"Master Braun told me that he'd arranged the appointment." Just hadn't told Gil a time, but he'd probably been prepared for the Investigator to roll up to her place of business at some inexplicable time when he gave up on sleep. "You seem to have me at the advantage."

"Of course." She moved back into the hallway in an inviting fashion. The noises from up the stairs were a trifle alarming and she was watching him with piercing dark eyes as if she was reading a very open book with large, simple letters.

He followed after her, and half-closed the door behind him just because it was rude to leave doors open like it was a crime-scene and they were waiting for the coroner to tromp in without touching the fingerprints on the doorknobs. "Could I ask you your name...?"

"You may address me as Lady Heather, Mr. Grissom," she said and her eyes flickered over the glitter of his cuffs. "Welcome to my Dominion."

She didn't give him any more instructions, but walked slowly ahead of him up the stairs towards a small room.

Gil followed, letting the atmosphere of the place sink into him. The banister of the stairs was heavy, old wood, carved and varnished. Elegant. Lady Heather didn't have any cuffs, which meant that he'd been right in guessing that she was a Freewoman. There were faint marks on her wrists, from where he guessed they'd been at some point.

She probably used very good scar cream.

"Take a seat Mr. Grissom, we have a lot to discuss," she said as they moved into a very interesting room. "Please serve the tea. I'm sure you could use something to refresh your thoughts."

Refresh his thoughts? No, his thoughts were already well refreshed, surrounded with ornate masks, both decorative and sexual in nature. There was a whip draped artfully over the back of the far sofa, and the light sconces put forth the bare minimum that would illuminate the room. "I... of course."

Serving tea. He could do that, because at least the act of making and drinking tea was comfortable to him. He did it anyway, finding a little comfort in the patterns of it. "How do you take it, Lady Heather?"

"A little milk with a slice of lemon," she replied, still walking around him slowly until she finally stopped and sat, gliding into the chair with a movement that made the mouth go dry. She wore her Freeman insignia on a cleverly crafted necklace that mimicked a Personal’s collar and it gleamed as she leaned forward slightly. It was a paradoxical means of identification. Most Freemen or Masters wore their status on items of clothing and all had at least one item of formal wear that was presented to them as a part of becoming a Freeman ceremony. Lady Heather wore hers in an imitation of a bond-slave, but the differences were obvious enough if you looked twice.

It was interesting, and it gave him something to think about as he poured tea into her cup first, and then added a dash of milk and a slice of lemon. It was a leap of difference from what he'd been doing hours before, carefully brushing sand from a dead woman's hair. "Here you are."

"Now, Mr. Grissom, I believe you're expected to become a Personal for a week," Lady Heather accepted it graciously. "Why don't you tell me how you feel about that?"

There was only a split second where he thought about giving the answer he knew was expected. He poured his own tea, milk and a little sugar to take some of the bitterness out. "I would be lying if I said that the prospect didn't bother me."

"You have good instincts for a Personal, Mr. Grissom." she replied with a smile. "Interestingly so. What is it that bothers you about it? That it is repellant to you or perhaps it is an unknown situation."

Repellant? He wanted to say no, but there was a good possibility that it was a yes, somehow, even though he found most repellant things interesting. Gil took a sip of the tea, settling carefully into the chair that she'd gestured for him to sit down in, and let his eyes drift a little to her face. "A little of each is possible. I... don't have sex very often. And I was a Freeman for quite a few years."

"And in your opinion being a Freeman and having the abilities of a Personal are mutually exclusive?" Lady Heather summarized. "Why?"

"Not mutually exclusive, no. I have a colleague who scored high as a personal and I'm sure she'll work herself out soon. But." Gil held up one arm slightly. "These are Gem levels in science, entomology, law, and on and on. I didn't bother having my wood-level in pleasure and Personal added to my cuffs."

"So it is a fear of incompetence perhaps?" Lady Heather suggested sipping at her tea.

He hadn't expected to hear it put quite that way, but there was a seed of truth in it. Greg's chances rested on his compliance, and Gil knew that his few sexual encounters in the past few years had been related to emotional release and desperation on the other person's behalf. Catherine... was sometimes like that. Sometimes she needed something different than Eddie, who she was free in mentioning 'liked it rough'. Who better to turn to after a bad case but Gil, who pointedly preferred slow and learning and....

"Yes."

"Or failure." That was just a comment as she studied him. "Mr. Grissom, tell me what you understand to be the mode of a Personal Bond-slave. Their purpose, skills and... attributes."

"Their purpose is to be an asset to their Master and to tend to his -- or her -- needs. Their skills are both sexual and diplomatic in nature, and they're usually beautiful examples of humanity."

"Ah." Lady Heather nodded as if he had said something particularly revealing. "And their own feelings?"

Gil wished that he didn't have to answer or say anything else that could be 'particularly revealing'. He took another sip of the tea and murmured, "I'm not sure. As far as I've seen, most of them are very loyally attached to their Masters."

"You are conflicted, Mr. Grissom, and that is the source of your uncertainty," Lady Heather said in a soft voice. "You feel that you are at once not adequate enough to be Personal on a physical level and your own desires are unclear to you, so it's hard to align yourself with that mindset."

His mouth twitched a little, covering the sense of sick shock that was creeping in at the edges of his senses. "'No man is a mystery, except to himself'."

"You feel distinctly uncomfortable with someone being able to know you where you do not understand yourself," she replied tilting her head slightly. "Knowing the desires and the capabilities of others is my trade, Mr. Grissom. I read people the same way that you, for example, would read a crime scene. The similarities are pertinent. The skills you have as an Investigator are eminently translatable into the realm of the Personal."

"How? The very name -- Personal -- implies a certain level of ease at relating with people." And he didn't have that. He could carry on a good intellectual sparring match. He could start a conversation, but inevitably, given a few long minutes he'd say something that would make the other person or his colleagues stop and shake their head and dismiss him as some kind of emotional cripple.

"The concept of a Personal is rooted in relationship dynamics. A level of ease is not obligatory. It can help, but it is no more than a fragment of the concept," Lady Heather put down the cup. "Mr. Grissom, you are an intelligent, engaging man. Your body is not pre-sculpted perfection but most people who genuinely want a Personal aren't looking for that. For that, they can visit the Pleasure Slaves. What they want is, to use a traditional word, submission. Attention. Focus. That in itself is the intoxicant. Your principle issue stems from the fact that you are a 'switch' and feel you should be dominant because a lack of control creates fear. I can allay that fear."

He didn't want that fear to go away. Fear tended to exist for a healthy, self-protecting reason. Gil watched Lady Heather's hands for a moment, and then inclined his head slightly. "I... would appreciate the help. I could argue against what you just said for my pride's sake, but..."

She moved closer, almost comforting. "This is an example of what I'm talking about. The misconception is that the submissive is powerless. When you top with someone I am willing to bet that you focus on their pleasure, and needs more than your own... yes?"

His mind strayed back to Catherine, and then further back to other people, other incidents, other friends who'd turned to him because he seemed immovable in the face of hellish things. People turned to him because they expected calm, and he... "Yes."

"And when you have bottomed, it has been your own needs that have been addressed?" Lady Heather asked with a softness in her voice.

He hesitated, because those memories were pretty far back. The closest he'd gotten to that recently had been Jim, and neither had been bottoming so much as jacking off fast and hard and rough. Did everyone have gaps of time, spans of whole years, where they didn't have sex, and then months where it seemed that was all there was to remember? "No, not so much."

"What gives you pleasure, Gil?" Lady Heather asked, watching him closely.

For a moment, Gil opened his mouth, and then closed it to regroup his brain. "Do you mean in general, or sexually?"

"Both." She sat back waiting for him to bare his soul and expecting that nothing would be held back.

That wasn't in his nature. Baring, sharing, talking about himself, it all ran contrary to how he'd existed for so long. But he didn't have much time to prepare for a week of doing things that most people in that position had a lifetime of training to do. "I... prefer slow, calm sex, though rough has its place. In my free time I research insects. I read. I sometimes ride roller coasters. I go to concerts."

He didn't really feel a need to add 'I'm more boring than my coworkers think I am'.

"And you nobly sacrifice yourself for others..." Lady Heather replied shrewdly. "Otherwise you would not be in this position."

Gil almost smiled into his cup before he finished it, leaving faintly sugared dregs behind. "I wasn't aware that Sam Braun had told you about the nature of the arrangement."

"He hadn't, but I can read your attitude clearly. You wouldn't do this for yourself. You wouldn't do it for a request or even an order from the Master of your House." She smiled slightly. "You do it for someone who sparks an emotion in you, and fear for them pushes you forward. The ability to put someone else's needs before your own is at the heart of being a Personal. You can do this, Gil, if you will let yourself. Does this person know what you're trying to do?"

"No. He... doesn't really need to know, and I don't want him to feel that he owes me." It was only natural human courtesy.

"You are a rare and beautiful man, Mr. Grissom," Lady Heather said after a long pause. "I would have been proud to take you for Personal training. Very well. Do you trust me?"

Did he have any choice? No, but he did feel a kind of trust towards her, and an interest for her intelligence. "Yes."

"Good. I want you to trust me that I know the best way to get you through this week," she said. "And I sincerely hope that the man in question is worth it. Your instincts are good. You may not believe you are good with people but you read my intent for you to follow me upstairs effortlessly. You were willing to follow, more to the point. Observation is a skill that often takes a long time to instill in another person, but I believe you have that ability. For example... I want you to read the signals I send you just from my body and attitude."

She paused a moment and then turned and immediately her body radiate stress and frustration. She really was a phenomenal actress. "You're stressed, at your wit's end." Like the parent of a missing child, when things were falling to pieces and they lashed out at whoever happened to be handy.

"Good. And now?" Like a chameleon she shifted and was looking at him with eyes of lust and need, want him to do something for her... demanding it.

"You... want me. You're demanding me to comply with something you want." Gil had turned a little in the chair to better observe her.

"Excellent. Second level interpretation," Lady Heather replied. "And now?" Boredom, ennui, with a hint of barely concealed interest as if she was trying too hard to hide it for some reason.

Gil almost smiled. It was, really, a good game to play with him, and he couldn't help but try his hardest. "Feigned boredom to hide interest. It's a lot like interviewing a suspect."

"I told you your skills were translatable. This one is more complex... what do you read here?" Lady Heather, asked arranging herself once more.

This time the motions were much more difficult to perceive. There was some fear, anxiety, concern. A flicker to her eyes that could be loneliness. A definite tension that appeared to be control and a slump to the shoulders that was vulnerability...

It wasn't anything tangible, nothing that he could frame up in words with any particular ease. He was almost tempted to say that she was pretending to be someone who was depressed. He's seen that in families of victims, the ones who weren't going for the jugular, and they were far harder to be around than the ones who seemed not to care at all or the ones who were angry.

Gil shifted, straightened his own shoulders and pressed back against the chair's firm back for a moment before the motion clicked in his mind. Shoulders down just a little. Shoulders... huh. She was... No, that was the most egotistical thing that had probably crossed his mind in days. He twitched an eyebrow at her. "You're... mimicking me?"

"Very well done Mr. Grissom. Few people can recognize themselves from that perspective," Lady Heather replied.

He couldn't quite smile, because he really hadn't expected it to be right. "I'm not sure whether recognizing that was supposed to be me was a good thing or a bad thing."

"It is a good thing. You have the skill of recognition to a degree most of my students would envy. And yet you feel you have issues with communications," Lady Heather arched an eyebrow at him.

"I've learned to listen -- listening and remembering that other people expect you to express yourself... are different things." Gil watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her expression and what it really was. "My colleagues think I'm not quite human."

"An active observer but a passive communicator?" Lady Heather replied with a twitch of a smile. "You're trying to read me, Mr. Grissom. You have good instincts. Tell me what you see."

"I..." He hesitated a moment. "You seem amused by the idea of an active observer being a passive communicator, and I'm not sure if you actually believe me since I've been communicating quite a lot to you since I came here."

"I believe it is possible, but I believe that under certain circumstances you can be an excellent communicator," she replied more seriously. "I am amused, it is true, but amused because I know if you were a genuine Personal and given time I could give you Training that would take you to the Imperial Court and not disgrace my teaching. And yet you believe yourself to be... deficient, alienated."

"I follow the evidence, and the evidence..." Gil gave a tight shrug of his shoulders. "Points to that. I... forget myself when I'm working. I don't ask people how they're doing, how their personal life is. I neglect myself, and I forget that just because I can work thirty hours at a crime-scene, other people prefer to take breaks and sleep and eat."

"In this instance, that ability to focus will be an asset. In a Personal relationship with a Freeman or a Master of a House, they define the structure of modes of communication." Lady Heather looked at Grissom, something behind her eyes. "They will talk in a manner similar to this. They may give you instructions to initiate arguments or to remain silent. The one common thing is the focus on their wishes and needs to the exclusion of most other things. You have proven you can do that. The very nature of the path by which you came to this point illustrates that point. Your ability to focus to the exclusion of peripheral things does so as well. Sometimes a Personal is given strict instructions to do what is best for their Master. What he or she most needs, and not what they want. That can be hard, but it is a profound demonstration of trust. You have to understand that not all owners of Personals are dominant. It may be perceived that way, but the truth is that frequently they want respite from responsibility. However... from the message Master Braun sent me, I doubt this is the case. So we will concentrate primarily on the submissive role. What are you feelings about that?"

His feelings were that he wished it weren't Judge Millander. He rather liked the man, and it was there that the problem both began and ended. "I think this is going to give me problems working with him on a professional basis afterwards. Judge Millander… I often testify in his circuit on House War matters."

"But what do you consider it will be like fulfilling the role of his Personal?" Lady Heather queried.

"I... don't honestly know. It's never been something that I've thought about before I was informed of what I was going to do." Except that the man he'd talked to off the record about many cases, and could occasionally forget was a Judge, wanted him. As a Personal.

So, his tastes were skewed, clearly.

"I want to consider the situation, Gil." Lady Heather reached back and picked up the whip. "If, for example, he chose to use this on you, what would your reaction be?"

Gil grimaced as he looked at the whip, taking in the twisted thick leather and the leather flanges at the tip. The handle was molded. "Horror."

"Why?" She toyed with it luxuriously, deliberately sensuous. "Analyze your response."

"Some people find pleasure in pain." Gil tilted his head a little as he kept looking at the whip. "I don't. I've been whipped before, and it wasn't a pleasant experience."

"In what circumstances?" Lady Heather tilted her head slightly. "In circumstances such as this?"

"No." Gil managed a smile. "But it was in chastisement. The head of my original House was overseas on a consultancy, and his brother was... much less of a wise Head of House than Philip."

"And not used to dealing with bonded members who were more intelligent than their masters," Lady Heather smiled again. "The circumstances make the difference. Judge Millander desires you, and he desires to control you. If you have never experienced that then... we should change that before you spend a week with him, to address your fears of being inadequate in the performance of your task."

"The week starts tomorrow," Gil pointed out reasonably. "I'm not sure even you could manage a miracle by then."

"Trust me, Mr. Grissom," she murmured in a way that spoke to that primal brain once again. "I can show you how good it is to give up control or take control in one night. You have the skills and the aptitude. Now all you need is... motivation. Come with me, Gil, and have your eyes, and all other senses opened."

Could he honestly decline? No, not honestly. She was a gorgeous woman and she had an aura of control about her. It was easy for him to stand up after she'd stood, already complying though he hadn't agreed. The choice was easy. Gil could go along with it, let her teach him, or drop into the situation lost and unsure with possible consequences for both himself and Greg.

"All right."

She smiled at him as she turned to look over her shoulder. "I'm going to show you another world, Gil. I hope you're ready for the experience."

Gil knew he didn't really have a choice. It was better just to enjoy it, following after the shapely Freewoman.

He hoped he was ready, too.

---

Greg had been dozing on the break room sofa when Nick had finally finished tracking down all of the information he needed to continue the investigation. He'd read over Gil's notes, made sure he had a grasp of what his Supervisor thought was going on in the case.

He'd finally just outright called Brass, woken him up, and said they needed cover to keep investigating -- particularly at the address on the edges of the city that didn't ring a bell in Nick.

It hadn't run a bell with Greg, either, and Catherine had told them to run with the case as she waded head first into the bureaucracy that usually hit Grissom.

The implant had provided them with an ID and the address as a place of work. It seemed logical to go there even as Greg talked at him as he drove. "Pretty cool, out in field with you. Us both doing a major case." He was grinning randomly, seemingly on a high for all he was pulling another shift.

Another shift. They were, what, on their third now? At least he knew Greg had stopped to eat and sleep at some point, even if it just had been to pass out on the couch. "Yeah, well. That's just because Grissom got called off by the House to do something else. He'd be dragging us along right now himself if he could." That had worried Nick, but. But. It wasn't his place to say anything and he wasn't sure what there was to say. 'Good luck with the fiery hoops the Head of House wants you to jump through'?

"Summons from the House is never good news," Greg replied glancing out the window. "Brass is not going to be happy you woke him up."

"Brass hasn't been in a good mood... ever?" Nick joked, fiddling with the radio. There was a rock station that he liked, but the song was pretty crap, so he'd let Greg turn it down low so they could talk over it. "He's Brass."

"He's an Imperial," Greg shrugged again. "I thought Imperials had all the fun you know? ...special perks, automatic Freemen and the bonuses with it. But you manage to get him out of bed. Makes you think."

"Sometimes. I think most of his friends are either other guards or, you know. Like Griss. Maybe being a Freeman isn't as great as it seems." It made sense that it might grate on Brass. He was divorced with a wife that he'd paid out and a daughter that had been born free but had disappeared into some Godforsaken House of her own choice.

What good was freedom when there wasn't really anyone to enjoy it with?

"Yeah. Still, he gets on well with the boss." That seemed to give him the Greg Sanders seal of approval. "How far is it to this place again?"

"Not too much further." Nick peered out the windshield, making sure he hadn't missed their turn. No, Shoop was definitely not what he was looking for. "Look for the flashing lights. Brass always leaves them on. One of these days, we'll have to jump start his cruiser."

"That would be embarrassing for a hot pursuit," Greg grinned.

"I think it's happened before. Gil always tells us to carry jumpers in the vehicles, you know?" Nick grinned sideways. "Don't worry. You'll hear all of the not so secret tricks of the trade soon."

"It's like there's this whole unwritten set of rules that I don't know about. It makes me nervous," Greg replied lightly. "If the standard kits are so useless, then why do we have them? Warrick showed me his. Wow. Seriously. I never pegged him for hyper-organized."

"Warrick... is amazing," Nick grinned a little. "It's how he works, you know? Everyone settles into their own style with time. Most everyone has a completely different kit than what was given to you. Griss carries a lot of jars for insects and makes his own printing power -- which Sara I think has stockpiled in her kit. Catherine carries a lot of bindles and swabs for blood evidence."

"What about you?" Greg asked, his interest very genuine and sincere. "What's the Nick Stokes specialty?"

The Nick Stokes specialty was birds and fiber, but no one ever seemed to take him seriously. And Griss didn't seem to think that he was really capable yet. "Fibers. I'm good with trace." No point in mentioning the birds since that never got taken seriously.

Greg nodded. "Fibers and trace. That's good stuff man. When I'm running the analysis I usually think, how did they spot that? I mean I know the how in the dyes and the lights but... knowing how to look where you all look. Most of the books don't go into like... the practical skills. I know a lot of theory..."

A higher level theory than a lot of a qualified Investigators. "But the actual finding and working stuff over is different. I mean Grissom looked at that scene for ten minutes before we did anything. I ...don't want to screw things up by compromising a scene."

"You won't. Wear gloves, we're just... going to see if maybe this place where the girl worked was a primary scene, you know?" Nick took the right turn slowly, grinning to himself. There was a house at the end of the road, with a sizable black-topped parking lot around it.

"No flashing lights," Greg said with a grin as they pulled in next to Brass's car. "No jump starts today. I'll follow your lead, Nicky."

Even if Grissom had expressed doubts, Greg seemed one hundred percent sure that Nick knew what he was doing. It was kind of nice to have that for once.

Nick nodded, and gave a wave to Brass, who was leaning against the hood of his vehicle by the time he'd parked and popped his door open. "Okay. We're just going to ask some questions and, uh... Process if we find a scene here. Keep your eyes open, we'll probably have to check every room."

"Or just the one with the chains and the liquid latex in plain sight," Greg said with a smirk as he got out of the car and looked at Brass as he picked up his meager standard kit. "Hey, Jim," he said, heading straight into his apparent bad mood.

"Hey. You two working the Mona Taylor case sans a Supe?" Brass pushed away, eyeing them both as he jerked a thumb to the large wood-shingled building.

"Yeah, but I still bet you tried to page Griss anyway." Nick grinned at Brass a little. He'd been working with them for so long that it was hard not to be comfortable with the guy, a little cranky or not. "Do you want to get a foot inside and then split to work the exterior and the interior?"

"Yeah." Brass eyed Greg for a moment, and then started towards the steps that led towards a large single-doored entryway. "C'mon kid. I already found her car. It's the nice one with the 'Im4fun' license plate."

"Classy," Greg commented a little dryly and rang the bell as they walked around to the rather gothic inspired door. "She definitely worked here then."

"Makes a guy wonder what 'here' is. It's never been on my 'to know' list of House brothels," Nick murmured quietly, waiting. It was the waiting that would get him, and the way that Brass edged in between them and the door. He always did that on scene, putting himself into any immediate possible line of fire.

"Sanders, step back for a sec."

Greg looked startled and stepped back as the door opened and a tall and rather impressive woman answered the door. "Let me guess, three weary servants of the Imperial law looking for the quality experience that only trained Personals can supply?" She sounded amused and stepped back, silently inviting them to enter.

"Close. One Imperial, two Investigators," Brass deadpanned as he stepped forward slightly, making sure that she could see his bad. "May we come in?" She stepped back with a smile that Nick decided was kind of hot, and the slit in her skirt went all the way up the inside of her leg. She had a faint smell about her -- perfume and sex, like she'd been working and hadn't had time to shower.

Collared, too, so she was a Personal. Nick frowned slightly, but then turned his attention to peering up and around the open lobby and the sweeping stairwell.

The sounds drifting down from the upper rooms were very plainly of whips, and cries. She seemed to notice their appraisal and turned. "Another happy customer... Now, would you like to have your needs assessed individually or were you looking for a group session?"

Inexplicably, Greg was now trying to look as inconspicuous as possible and had by some strange means ended up very close to Nick. "Uh..." Nick turned his head a little to stare at her, while Jim choked on a laugh.

"We're here about a crime," Brass cut in. "Not to partake of your business's, uh, services. Mona Taylor was found dead last night."

She seemed to go very still. "Would you like to come and discuss this in my chambers? I've never lost one of my girls before."

Brass gave a tight smile, taking a little control, and Nick let him. He was senior there, without question. Nick and Greg were just there to collect the evidence. "That'd be fine."

Nick gave a glance over to Greg, before he looked back to Lady Heather. "We'd appreciate that. Maybe you can help us with our investigation. Do you mind if we search the interior and the exterior for clues?"

"By all means. I may need time to clear certain areas. I run the Training for Personals for House Braun, but we also run a Personal service that is open to all." Lady Heather looked around. "There are few Houses that can boast access to Courtesan trained Personals, so many of our clients are... sensitive, as you might understand. But I most definitely want to assist."

"Take your time." Jim's mouth tightened a little when he said that and Nick thought 'just not with bleach on the evidence'.

"Greg? You wanna take the Vic's car and the surrounding area? I'll do the upstairs and then we can work the downstairs together when you're done. Cool, man?"

Greg nodded. "Cool. I'll... uh... process." He seemed quite pleased to be backing away and Lady Heather watched him carefully for a moment.

"Please, follow me." She said to the other two. "What is it that you need to know?"

"Were there any disturbances last night? Did you hear screams?" Brass took a step towards her, and Nick moved to fall into step with the other man as she turned to lead them up the stairs.

She gave him a look as the cries continued to echo, some most definitely sexual in nature. "It's when I don't hear screams that I start to worry."

That really explained the whip marks she'd had, Nick decided. And why she'd been so beautiful. "So," Brass ventured, while Nick watched her. "When did Mona get off work?"

"Her last client was booked for eleven, so she should have been gone by midnight." Lady Heather led them into her room. "She worked the converted Pool house area."

"We... need names and addresses of her clients. And we'll also need to examine the pool house area and take a look around," Nick broached carefully.

"Of course. As long as there's confidentiality if they aren't involved in the crime. And I will have to move clients around to clear the area." Lady Heather gave Nick another long look. "Does this make you uncomfortable, Investigator?"

He cleared his throat slightly, and shook his head. "No, ma'am. Do you mind if I take a look around here while you clear the pool house?"

"Of course. Please respect the rooms that are marked as occupied," Lady Heather said. "At least until I have opportunity to clear them of occupants. The evidence in any room is all yours."

"Thank you." Nick gave her a wide smile, and turned towards Brass, who shook his head slightly.

"I'll be down in the lobby keeping one eye on Sanders and an ear out for you. Scream like a girl if something happens, all right?"

Lady Heather twitched a smile at that. "I'm sure he can scream most satisfactorily," she nearly purred. "I won't be long."

Brass smirked when Nick leaned in to punch his arm. "Bastard..."

"Yeah yeah. Get going, do your flashlight thing. Just don't go blind from all the semen stains, all right?" Then Brass turned, feet clomping quietly as he headed back down the stairs, leaving Nick to halfway follow Lady Heather into the hallway and to peek at the doors that weren't marked occupied.

There was a compelling fascination about the rooms. He entered several of the unoccupied rooms and found a bewildering variety of themes. A harem fantasy, with silk and a brazier ready to be lit, something that looked like a dancers studio with a great deal equipment, an exotic looking dungeon room. All surprisingly clean.

The occupied rooms had even more allure as he wondered about the themes behind those doors and what was happening to make those sounds in such intensity.

And, there were sounds. The heavy noise of chain and whip and leather, cries and moans and even the odd yelp, people begging for mercy. He walked past those rooms a little more slowly than he needed to, half-trying to guess what was behind each door, when he came near one that was seemingly silent.

Huh.

If he was trying to hide something this would be where it was. No one in there but conveniently people requested to stay away. He stepped forward and reached for the door handle.

Of course he might be wrong.

He could just lie and say he hadn't looked well enough at what the door said, since the sign was subtle and hard to see if he wasn't looking, if he didn't work there. It was easy to grasp the door handle, turn it, and crack the door open slowly. Dimly lit, yeah, like most of the unoccupied rooms had been, and he pushed the door open further, leaning in and shining his flashlight.

It caught off a glint of metal, and he followed the glint that his light gave down with his eyes. Oh, shit, it wasn't unoccupied. There was a guy in there, because he could see hand restraints and arms that led down to a loosely arranged body, curled up a little and naked on top of the duvet. There was no way that could've been comfortable, but the guy was sleeping. The guy...

The guy was Grissom.

A surprisingly relaxed Grissom, with muscles and lines he would never have believed even though he knew that he had been working out. The first glance was deceptive. The restraints didn't look comfortable, but Grissom did.

Nick... suddenly really wished that he'd listened to Lady Heather's instruction. Because he couldn't quite help but stare at his Supervisor, conflicted. On one hand, Gil was not supposed to be there. He was supposed to be consulting on a case, not bound up and dozing on a comfortable-looking bed. On the other hand, Nick wasn't supposed to be in there either and Gil looked really hot like that. He was almost laying on his stomach, one leg looped over the other. There was a red mark that wrapped around his hip, and his dick...

Nick was trying not to stare. It was way past time to close the door and back the hell up.

He managed to drag himself away, very quietly and silently shutting the door. Maybe he could just forget it and pretend it didn't happen.

Heck, who was he kidding? How could he forget that?

It just. Wow, what the hell? Nick hadn't expected that, ever. Grissom and sex just didn't... mix. Grissom and kinky sex that you paid for also didn't mix in Nick's head. Grissom and kinky paid-for-sex of the submissive type was blowing Nick's brain, and he stared at the closed door for a long moment.

The only thing he could do right now was process and see how Greg had made out with the car.

---

"So, I'm looking through the trash..." Greg said as they walked in the indicated direction of the Pool House extension. "And guess what I find? Aside from some really interesting weird stuff... Liquid latex."

He grinned. "There's some sort of impression in it. Looks like a watch. So I was thinking we could get a mold made of it."

"I'll show you how to cast it when we get back to the department -- you bagged it, right?" Nick held his camera in one hand, trying hard not to take in too much of what was going on around them, or blurt that their supervisor was naked upstairs. He had a feeling that Greg might just dash up there to try to get a peek of the Sleeping Grissom.

The Sleeping Grissom who could apparently afford to patronize a House-linked establishment that fancy and specified. And the skipping work thing... Jesus. Nick shook his head sharply, and grinned at Greg. "Gil had a cast of an indent on the Vic's wrist. Wanna bet money they fit?"

"No bet," Greg looked at him with what Nick had heard Sara call his excited puppy expression. He'd laughed because no matter how she meant it, it did seem to sum up his enthusiasm and hopeful expression. "But I don't think even a Personal would have a watch like that. Looked designer. Unless a rich client gave it to her or was preparing a contract for her alone."

"Except that the watch wasn't on her. The watch is missing in action," Nick pointed out as he peered around the room, looking for something. The chain in the middle of the room was the first thing that interested him. "So. We've got a watch that we don't really have. And we've got... I think our primary scene?"

"Yeah, those are designed to secure a person standing, and the chains would go over the back," Greg said absently as he looked around the variety of implements hanging from the walls.

Nick's mouth twitched, and he looked at the handcuffs that hung at the ready from those chains. "So... Hands in those, right? And that keeps the person from getting away?" He peered over at Greg and looked along the length of the chain to snap off photos of where the silver had chipped from wear and scraping. "How do you know this?"

"You really don't want to know," Greg replied and it sounded like it should have been said with a joking tone, but his voice was comparatively flat and serious. He bent and peered at something on one of the instruments. "Well lookee here. Liquid latex."

"Photograph it, then bag it." Nick bit at his bottom lip. It didn't make... sense that Greg would know that, but it made sense at the same time. Because he rolled into work looking like he'd tangled with a demon half of his days, and maybe that demon liked to use their DNA tech Investigator as a Personal. And maybe Greg just wasn't saying anything.

And maybe, maybe Nick wanted to get something for the headache that was sinking in behind his eyes as he took another shot of the chains, stepped back three feet more to establish location in the room.

There was the flash of Greg taking the photograph and the bagging the sliver as he turned around. He paused for a moment looking at Nick. "You okay? You look a little... weirded out."

"I'm just thinking. I... kinda accidentally opened one of those doors upstairs and I didn't know it was occupied. And there was this guy with..." Nick gestured to the heavy leather hand restraints that dangled from the chains he'd been photographing. "These on? And his cuffs. And he was sleeping like it was the best sleep in the world, and it just... I don't know. This place weirds me out. I couldn't sleep tied up."

"You probably could if you tried it," Greg replied. He shrugged. "People can do pretty much anything if they have to."

"Yeah, but..." Nick rolled his shoulders a little. "I think the guy was a paying customer. Not really a 'have to' do kinda thing, you know?"

"Well, it might be he can't relax unless someone makes him relax," Greg said as he used his flashlight. "There's not a lot else you can do like that. You don't think... oh hey I've got to get up and do this or that. As long as you're there, you're... there. You can't do anything, so you have to do nothing."

That... sounded freakishly plausible, and Nick hadn't even had to say a name to hear an answer that fit. Maybe that was how Grissom unwound after work. Most of them went drinking, but hey. Emergency 'must be tied up session'. Freaky, and Nick decided that he was going to keep a mental calendar to see when Gil next skipped out on them. Maybe he really did have a consultancy to do and this was some weird 'unwind before jumping through Sam Braun's fiery hoops' kinda deal.

"Huh. Hadn't really thought about that. See? That's a new kind of perspective that I don't think any of the rest of us have." Except maybe Grissom, who'd deny it until the day he died if Nick ever said anything.

"I am a source of the weird and faintly disturbing," Greg replied with a grin. "There's something missing from in here though..."

Missing? Nick glanced around a little, but hell if he could find anything missing from a place like that. The room was pretty barren, and maybe there was something standard to places like that.

"Okay, you've got me, Greggo. What's missing?"

"The other gear. I mean, yeah, there's a lot of naked stuff, but usually with this sort of thing? Masks, hoods, blindfolds, gags, things to put in, things to take out..." Greg faded off a moment, a hint of a flush of color on his cheeks. "That sort of thing. This is mostly to create an impression, this stuff. I bet most doesn't ever make it into play..."

"Huh. Maybe… Maybe the room's been cleaned?" Nick looked around again, and then headed to the door. "Want to finish processing in here, and I'll ask Lady Heather what happened to anything else that would've been in the room?"

"Sure. Yeah, I can do that." Greg nodded trying to look confident. "I expect they get washed or something. I mean, lots of potential for infection there."

"Right. Hopefully anything used last night hasn't been washed yet," Nick offered as he glanced over at Greg again. He wanted to say more, but that could wait until the car ride. "I think you've got this room covered, so I'll see about that other thing."

Greg nodded and turned to sweep over every inch of the place with his flashlight and take samples of what he could even as Nick headed back out of the atmospherically lit dungeon space to track down Lady Heather.

He kept seeing tantalizing glimpses of the male and female form walking or being lead, or even carried from room to room. It was hard to remain focused. The whole place was oozing sex, and normally that wouldn't make his mind wander. It was a little discomfiting, but the unease had been manageable until he'd seen Grissom in one of those rooms, and until Greg had started to talk about it like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.

It was worse because he had to pass a lot of rooms and he had no idea where to find Lady Heather. Maybe upstairs, her office space was up there.

Jim waved to him as he walked past and back up the main stairwell.

He wondered what the Imperial thought about it. Maybe he'd even tried out this sort of thing. Masters or Freemen could afford permanent Personals, but anyone who was still bonded had to come to this sort of place and pay by the session. It was much more expensive than going to a Pleasure House or something. He wasn't entirely sure what the difference was.

Lady Heather was back in her office space, organizing some of the paperwork. "Investigator Stokes, have you discovered anything of use?"

"We, uh... noticed that the pool house room is pretty barren. Where was the equipment used in that room yesterday? The Victim had fresh whip marks." Nick wondered what kind of paperwork she was up to.

That disconcerted her for a second. "That's impossible... Mona was dominant with her scheduled clients. I knew she occasionally saw people off the House books, but I allowed it because otherwise she would have requested a transfer... but I assumed she knew what she was doing." Lady Heather looked directly at him as she stood. "I'll take you to the wash room. I doubt it has been processed yet but there is everything from last night. I don't know what was specifically used for each room, though I can usually hazard a guess."

Nick shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable as he watched her stand up. "I'd appreciate that, because it might help us find her killer. Oh -- my Supervisor noted that she had the impression of an expensive looking watch around her wrist. Do you know if anyone was trying to lure her into being a Private Personal?"

"Not as far as I am aware. Mona liked the variety a Training House could give her. She might have taken a gift, but I would have noticed." Lady Heather considered as she walked in a sensuous manner over towards him. "It could have been a 'prop' as much as a gift. This sometimes happens. It provides an emotional connection with the persona associated with that item."

It was really easy for Nick to take a step back so he wasn't blocking the door, and then he moved out into the hallway. "So like... instead of having someone wear somebody's perfume, a watch...?" Fucked up.

"Or an item of clothing, or a certain nail polish," she replied. "You find it hard to comprehend, Mr. Stokes, don't you?"

"A... little," he admitted as he waited for her to lead him towards the 'wash room', which he really hoped was unoccupied. "I can kinda get some of it." He wasn't going to think of Griss. He wasn't. He just hoped that Grissom stayed in that room, tied up, until he and Greg and Brass were way the fuck long gone. "Some of it. But that...?"

"It's little different than using a Pleasure Slave and selecting one that looks similar to someone you have wanted, loved in the past or is unobtainable in the present or future," Lady Heather replied. "But there the similarities end. Personals are very different than Pleasure Slaves."

"Sure. But... I just wonder why people come here. Which isn't my place to wonder, but I'm having trouble getting a feel for the victim." And that was important. Understand the victim and it was easier to understand the crime.

"Then let me try and explain, Mr. Stokes," Lady Heather said as she led him out of the room. "Pleasure Slaves are about the body. Personals are about everything. A Pleasure Slave can give you what you want, a Personal can give you that and what you need. Most people have no idea what that is, but the training I had, the training all Personals have, allows us to read it in anyone. If you went to a Pleasure House for a visit, they have limitations. We do not. We make love not just to the surface, but to every part of a person. And that might mean their submission. It might mean performing an intensely beautiful and ritualistic spiritual ceremony for drinking Chai-sen. It could be a massage and counseling session or allowing them to explore the depths of themselves without judgment. Personals can focus attention on someone in a way no one else can. Mona, for example, very rarely had sex as part of her sessions, but the gratification for her clients and herself was intense nonetheless. Do you understand?"

Nick nodded as he fell into step just a little behind her. The hallways were narrow and not really built for having people walking shoulder to shoulder. "I think I get it." It just didn't help that his brain kept skipping back to Grissom, and Greg's words mingling with Lady Heather. Maybe that was really how their mysterious Supervisor relaxed. Maybe he came there and paid for someone to dominate him and then chain him up and let him sleep. That… was pretty freaky, still, but at least it seemed to be a pattern at the place.

"The process is possibly the ultimate in luxury. Of course, at the highest level, a Personal is more that just to do with satisfaction. They're to do with true needs. Challenging, keeping you growing and developed with a purpose; a lover, friend, mentor, pupil all in one. Unconditional. That's a heady mix." They entered the washroom, and Lady Heather gestured to the piles of equipment in sinks. "That is from the Pool House, that section there."

"Yeah, but the people who come here aren't getting that last part, right?" Nick reached into the inside of his vest, reaching for plastic bags. There had to be DNA on some of it. A lot of masks and straws and cuffs and Greg had been right. Things to insert.

"They get as close as many of them are as likely to get in their lifetime." Lady Heather replied. "Do you need my assistance further, Investigator Stokes, or can you and your novice trainee deal with everything from here?"

He hadn't told her that Greg was a trainee, he was sure of that.

It was hard not to stare at her a little. "We can handle it. Thank you for your assistance. I think this is everything we'll need." Except for some answers.

"I must check on a client, if you'll excuse me. Please feel free to discuss or ask anything pertinent to catching Mona's murderer," she replied, looking back at him over her shoulder as she left him to his bagging and tagging. There was nothing the woman did that didn't look alluring or arousing.

Client, huh? Maybe a certain sleeping Grissom up in that quiet occupied room. That was... kinda a hot mental image. If a woman like that wanted to dominate Nick, he was pretty sure he'd at least give it a try. Because damn, she was hot. He watched the door a little and then really did get down to the task of snapping pictures and bagging.

It was really going to be a long rest of the night.

---

When Lady Heather took on a task, she did it thoroughly and with style. Gil was still reeling from the introduction to rather new and exciting emotions and sensations from both sides of the control equation, and even as he relaxed he was massaged, given a manicure and pedicure, had his sometimes unruly hair styled into a soft natural look, and thoroughly pampered. The hand-over to Millander was taking place at Lady Heather's, and she was very carefully packing some of the restraints and equipment she knew Gil had responded well to as they waited.

"How about these? You did seem to enjoy them," she asked holding up a rather fearsome appearing set of restraints that were rather comfortable over longer periods of time. "Gives a good impression."

He'd been adjusting to it, the idea of what he was going to be doing, and it had morphed from Gil doubting he was capable of handling it to Gil just being nervous.

Nervous was a hundred times more bearable than feeling like he was doomed.

Those restraints had been comfortable to sleep in. His back still ached from the beating she'd given him, but it wasn't a bad ache and Gil had certainly done worse to himself in the line of his job. "That I come with my own restraints?" He managed a faint smile. "They were actually comfortable, so... why not?"

"You slept very well in them," Lady Heather replied. "You enjoy being in control and frankly, you do that very well, though in what we call a serving dominance, focused on the happiness and well-being of the person in your control which is perfect for a Personal, but you do seem to need some of the other. Your reaction surprised you, didn't it?"

"It did. I didn't actually expect to be able to relax like that. Except... you're an exceptional teacher." He could see why she'd made a Freewoman so early. Later, after he got back to work, he could reconcile with the fact that he had honestly enjoyed that treatment, had honestly had a part of himself that didn't mind it, but not now. Now he had to concentrate on being open, open to anything with the Judge, because Greg's life rested on it. Braun wouldn't declare the Challenge, Gil knew, until he was sure that Gil was working out for Millander.

It wasn't going to be so bad. He liked the man personally, and he was sure he could handle a week as his Personal.

"Thank you, Gil. I enjoyed our sessions as well. It was most definitely a privilege to teach you." She caressed a little around the side of his face, still smiling. "Should you require further lessons afterwards, you know where I am. I don't pretend to know Millander's tastes or what he intends, but just remember that he wants you, and that you have power in that respect. The first thing he's likely to do is to fix a Personal Collar. Traditionally you kneel to receive it, remember that."

A few more of their training items were added into the case. She'd also packed clothes for him. He hadn't really expected that, but he had been expecting for her to deem his current wardrobe unsuitable just from looking at the clothes he'd shown up in. Gil exhaled, tipping his head up a little to watch her walking around the room, adding things and pausing now and again. All he had to do was sit still and remember everything she'd quickly taught him since he'd arrived there the previous afternoon.

The sun was coming up, but he felt well rested despite how tightly packed the evening had been. "I'll remember that, Lady Heather. I'm going to try to remember everything."

"Remember how to be honest with your reactions," she replied. There was a long pause before she spoke again. "The one you're doing this for, would he be young with rather unruly hair, and possibly with an Investigator called Nick Stokes?"

Gil's breath caught just a little, and he met her eyes. Nick... Nick and Greg were working the case and Nick and Greg had been going to look for where their victim had worked, and now it made sense where she could have worked. "They were here about the case...?"

"Yes, Mona was one of my Personals," she replied allow more emotion in her voice then there had been when the news had been broken. "You didn't answer the question."

He almost managed a smile. "What made you guess that Greg was the one? It was a good guess. You're right."

"He recognized immediately what everything in the place was for and what I could do, and not in a good way," Lady Heather replied. "He moved favoring various parts of his body and he unconsciously felt threatened by the presence of a very overt dominant presence close to him. Or, to put not to fine a point on it, he looked like a kicked puppy."

That was Greg, all right. Gil nodded, still watching her for a moment before he stood up to make sure that he knew where everything was in what she'd packed for him. That was Greg, and Heather would see under the smiling bright expressions to everything beneath that. "He's been like that since he started to subcontract with us. One of these days, he's not going to come in to work."

"I understand, Gil," she murmured. "I would love to reassure you that you're wrong in that assessment, but... your observation skills are instinctively good. I would have to agree. You should bring him here when you've gained his safety. "

That was a thought that hadn't ever crossed his mind. Gil dropped his hand to touch the contents of one open suitcase, fingers feeling the edge of chains that were peeking out from their soft covering wrap. He flipped the cloth back over them. "I'm not sure I understand why."

"Call me a romantic, but you two would mesh well together. I see... you haven't even had casual contact?" Lady Heather was a little surprised.

No, but he'd thought about it, tried... tried just to make Greg comfortable with him. It didn't ever seem a possibility, and that was all right. Gil had a good life, he was comfortable, he didn't need anything or anyone else in it. "No. I think I scare him."

"Perhaps you do." Lady Heather replied. "I suspect most people, do but he still puts himself out there as if he has nothing to lose. If it does happen, scared or not, bring him here if things become difficult before the both of you give up."

"Do you think you could help him...?" Even just her talking to Greg could help. Gil would be more than willing to pay for that. Just... "I want him to have a chance at the lifestyle most of House Braun has. That's all. I'd like to see him come in to work healthy and happy."

"I could." She was smiling again as she finally closed the case. "For free. I am a slave to my romantic ideals after all. We should move to the foyer. He'll be here shortly."

Calm. He could be calm. Court never bothered him, and this... this was just one more thing he'd never done in his life and was having the opportunity to do. Gil nodded and stepped back. "All right. I want to thank you again, for all of the help that you've been, Lady Heather." Moving to take the closed case seemed a simple thing to do after everything else.

"My pleasure, Gil, in many ways," she teased as she moved past him to head down the stairs. "Come... I suspect he will be precisely on the hour."

"He's always prompt in Court." And with Gil's luck, the man's watch would be running earlier than Lady Heather's.

But at least the foyer was empty just then, and he couldn't see anyone standing outside impatiently waiting. Gil made a mental note to stand up straight while he carried the case, and followed after Lady Heather.

It was when his foot touched the bottom stair that a knock sounded from the door.

She swept straight towards it, and opened it carefully. "Judge Millander, a pleasure to meet you. Do step inside."

Gil stopped at the bottom of the stairs, carefully setting the case down. The little rubber legs at the bottom still made a noise on the floor. This was it, and his stomach twisted for a moment before he lifted his head to look at his new, temporary -- just a week he reminded himself -- master.

The thin, well attired man stepped inside, eyes immediately alighting on Grissom as if he wasn't really sure if the agreement would be honored. He smiled slightly, genuinely pleased even as he responded to Lady Heather.

"It's an honor to be here, Lady Courtesan. I see you've been assisting with my agreement with House Braun. I thank you for that."

"Believe me, it was a pleasure. I believe you will find Mr. Grissom more than satisfactory." She turned her gaze to Gil with an encouraging look. "Gil, please come forward and greet Judge Millander."

There were better times in his life that he could have been struck with that same case of nerves, but interpersonal relations were always a floundering point. He remembered every date that had gone badly, every attempt to ask someone to dinner or lunch or breakfast that had been shot down and his stumbling attempts to cover it up like it had been nothing all along, honest, who me, thinking I could be with you? No, no, not at all.

Gil managed a smile, straightened his back a little, and then relaxed. He knew Judge Millander, even if it wasn't this way. He'd be fine. "Sir." Gil stopped a few feet away, lowered his head a little, waiting and trying not to overtly look at the Judge. He peered, though, eyes raised with his chin tilted down slightly. He looked good in casual clothing, out of the robes of office. Cleanly dressed, hair well combed, face...

Well, Judge Millander probably understood casual rejection, too. Not that it was going to be coming up in conversation.

Millander smiled broadly. "Braun has given me a prize, it seems."

Lady Heather nodded. "Indeed. Have you brought a Personal Collar with you? Or do you need the loan of something suitable?"

Did he kneel now or wait for a collar to be produced? Shit. Gil decided waiting was better. The protocol and what level of formality Millander preferred would become obvious later. Until then, Gil was going to play it to the hilt unless requested otherwise.

"I-I wasn't sure if it was appropriate," Millander replied with the faintest hint of a stutter. "I did bring something." He rather carefully pulled a collar out of his pocket with a degree of uncertainty. Here was a man who made decisions on a scale that would terrify most people and yet he was evidently nervous to a certain degree of taking up this transaction.

Lady Heather glanced at Gil, beckoning him with a flick of her fingers to kneel.

He knelt carefully. Not a drop so much as he slowly lowered himself, as calmly as he could. Just like kneeling down in the sand two nights before, head tipped up a little to look up at Millander. For whatever reason, his faint uncertainty was soothing. So neither of them really knew what they were doing. Okay, that helped.

The fabric of his suit, grey-brown cotton, was an interesting distraction for his eyes.

The collar was leather, and soft as it slipped snugly around Gil's neck. Millander pulled the buckle to tighten it slightly but left it reasonably loose.

"You understand that in seven days you are to return Mr. Grissom here, with no permanent damage?" Lady Heather said.

"Yes, yes of course." Paul Millander seemed enraptured by the fact that he had the other man kneeling there, and collared. Lady Heather had been right about the impact that could have on a person.

"I took the liberty of packing suitable attire and equipment for Mr. Grissom. But other than that, I wish the both of you joy of this experience," she replied, gently touching Gil in reassurance before standing clear to signal her passing him over to the other man.

Gil only briefly wondered what was considered 'permanent' in terms of damage. If he was hopeful, it meant nothing scarring. If... and he was hopeful, because Millander seemed just in awe that Gil was kneeling there. His fingers fastening the buckle had been a little shaky, and the leather didn't feel any more or less discomfiting than his first proper cuffs had first felt.

The next step was up to Paul.

"Follow me... Gil," Millander ordered. "And bring your cases. We'll get to know each other a little more on the way home."

Home. Not his apartment, but Millander's home. Gil nodded, and turned to get the cases where he'd left them. "All right, sir."

"Call me Paul, Gil... unless I say otherwise," the other man replied and with that and a nod to Lady Heather he led his temporary Personal outside away from the comparative security of Lady Heather's Dominion.

Paul. Unless he said otherwise. At least that was specific, and Gil could appreciate that specificity. Gil could appreciate a lot, like going from moment to moment as he took the cases by the handle and turned to follow after his temporary owner.

Millander lead him out to a slick looking Ford Mustang and gestured for him to get in the passenger side even as he slid into the drivers side. He didn't say anything at that point, just watched Grissom's every move.

It was... intense, Gil decided, as he managed to get the cases into the back seat and then slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind him, the motion of getting in and closing the door one single shift, before he reached for the seat belt after a moment of looking for it. Millander had just had the car detailed, and it smelled crisp like a new car, even if the wear of the leather driver's seat disagreed with the cleanness.

"I drive a lot," Millander replied as if he had asked a question. "I sometimes think I spend more time in my car than I do in my home."

Gil's eyes flicked up while Millander -- Paul, he'd have to stop thinking of him as a Judge -- got into the driver's side. A smirk twitched his mouth. "You're on a busy circuit. This is certainly a nice car to drive if you're going to spend that much time on the road."

"It clears my head. There are some cases, some... days where you need that." Millander replied even as he started the car and pulled expertly away. "Don't you find that?"

"Some times you need to clear your head," Gil agreed. "I ride roller coasters when it gets to be too much."

"Roller coasters? That's an interesting choice. Why?" the other man asked as they headed out, away towards some of the higher-class area's of Vegas where prestigious Freemen and Masters, had secluded houses of luxury. Gil had been there a few times on cases.

Just a few. Gil settled back in his seat, watching the side of Paul's face as he drove. He did seem a little more relaxed out of the court and behind the driver's wheel. "It's... " Gil had to pause, thinking about it in a bout of silence. "It's a release, in a way. Pay the operator enough credits, and they'll set it to run for half an hour. There's nothing to do but feel."

"That's an... interesting perspective." Millander seemed to consider for a long moment. "Gil, I need to know how you feel about this. We've always gotten along as professional colleagues and, I confess it, I've held you in high regard. This... development was too good an opportunity to pass up."

The silences, at least, were comfortable. Gil could listen in the silence as well as he could listen in the sound. Sometimes on a scene, what you didn't hear was as important as what you did hear. "I understand. I was originally a little unsure. I'm still finding my footing, but... I'm not adverse. I've always admired the way you handle yourself professionally."

"My professional life is one that I'm in control of." Millander was looking straight ahead as he said that, though his fingers clenched round the steering wheel tightly. "I want you to be very honest with me about anything we discuss, Gil. I have enough of lies all day every day."

"Being honest isn't a problem for me, Paul." Except when people didn't want him to be honest and they got it anyway. That had gotten him into more trouble in his life than anything, sharp honestly. Telling Nick that no, he really wasn't ready to work a DB solo, even if Gil could have lied and stalled and shifted it around so that it wasn't Nick to blame.

If he gentled the truth, then it wasn't the truth by the time that all of the edges had been shaved down and the whole of it had been shaped up.

"I believe some of the House Lawyers have noted that," Paul smiled at him. "And needless to say, anything we discuss is bound by the confidentiality clauses that apply to Personals. I.... am not good with expressing myself fully."

Gil folded his hands in his lap after a moment of toying with what to do with them. There was an abortive armrest on the inside of the door, and then the console, and Paul's knee, and Gil wasn't sure. His head wasn't quite yet there, and it was a little like the moment before a case clicked and made sense in his head. "You don't have to worry. I don't indulge in gossip, and I'm not going to discuss this with anyone. It's no one else's business."

Not Sam Braun, not Catherine, not... anyone.

"Does it bother you that I'm interested in you in a Personal way?" Millander asked as they swept out of the suburbs.

"Bother? No." Gil took a sideways peek at Paul, feeling himself relax a little. "I was honestly surprised, though."

"How so?" Millander was easy to talk to in a way at odds with his normal courtroom demeanor.

Mellow, calmer. "I didn't... I had the expectation that all Personals were stunningly beautiful and mostly young."

Millander chuckled. "Beauty is most definitely in the eye of the beholder. What would I see in a classic beauty save a mockery of myself? I prefer looking at the mind, and in that respect, my new Personal, you outstrip everyone I've known."

"Thank you, s-- Paul." Gil paused a moment, and leaned his head faintly back against the headrest. "I'm sorry, it's going to take me a little while to remember to call you Paul."

"That's understandable." Millander spared him a quick glance. "Tell me, Gil, what do you expect of this time together?"

What did he expect? "I expect that... you want someone to see to your needs, whatever they might be," Gil said, picking his words carefully but not lying or obfuscating as he spoke. Thinking through as he talked, yes. "I hope I can do that for you."

"You hope you can...?" Paul Millander sounded astonished that he even expressed any sort of desire in that direction. He shook his head even as they slowed, coming into a secure area replete with houses that verged on being mansions. "I thought Sam Braun was joking when he said it was willing. I believed you to have been coerced into this position."

"I owe the House a debt," Gil admitted, "But there were so many other things he could have asked me to do. Things I wouldn't have agreed to."

"Like?" Millander asked as they pulled up the driveway of an isolated comparatively modest mansion and came to a slow halt.

As if a mansion of any kind could ever be really modest. Gil had a simple, comfortable apartment that he'd been living in for years despite the fact that he could've moved up a housing band. Home was home, even if he qualified for something nicer.

"It had crossed my mind that he might ask me to tamper with a case, or with evidence."

"And you would rather give up control of your body than compromise your integrity?" Millander asked as he shifted to get out. "For most it would be the other way around."

Gil reached for and fumbled with the seat belt for a moment before he popped the passenger side door open. He'd have to get the cases out, but he also should answer Paul since once he stood up, the other man couldn't hear his answer. "My integrity and honor means more to me than control."

That seemed to please Millander as he nodded. "Good. When we get inside I want you to take your cases upstairs and then come back. We'll have a cup of coffee and just talk some more." He seemed to take satisfaction in that at least.

"All right. Just... up in the hallway?" He assumed there was a hallway as he turned away from Paul to pull the cases out of the back seat.

"Yes. Feel free to explore," Millander said as he moved to unlock the front door, leaving Gil to follow on behind.

"Thank you." He wouldn't explore much; it would be best to get back to his host, but he did want to sate his curiosity a little.

Stepping inside of Paul's home was a little of what he expected and a little of what he didn't expect. It seemed the simple residence of a very private kind of man, but it was well decorated and well furnished. As a Judge, he probably had to host parties there, and Gil was willing to bet that all of the upstairs doors locked from both the inside and the outside to keep nosy guests from rifling the proverbial medicine cabinet.

One large light room caught his eye as he moved towards the master bedroom, more by instinct than prior knowledge, an artist's studio from the looks of it. Paintings, sketches, sculptures of a sort that were at once dark and powerful.

Graphically realistic, and it made Gil want to explore further. The mansion was so large that even when he strained his ears he couldn't really make out where Paul was, and laid out before him was one series of work in progress after another. The sketches tacked up in one corner were loose, the wild spinning out of designs, but he could see more detailed variants on a slanted drafting table and a humanesque sculpture that looked to be in progress, not really fleshed out yet.

That was one thing he had never considered; that Judge Millander might have something like an artistic talent that he spun out in private. He leafed through some of them, some of them striking a chord of memory. Imagined scenes from cases, as if the only way to stop them being in his head was to get them on paper. Surreal images of men and women intertwined, but not in a passionate embrace. There were a lot of dualistic themes of every type.

None of the overlapping faces and forms struck a chord, but the case sketches did. He remembered the heir of a small House who'd had her boyfriend kill her family -- not for status and money, but revenge. He remembered Sara talking with the little girl they'd thought was the daughter's sister but who had been her daughter. The daughter of a girl by her own father. The slaughter inside had been unimaginable, but sometimes... sometimes Gil could understand it. Almost.

He could really understand needing to get it out of his head, so he set the sketches aside, trying not to remember when he'd removed the bloody buffalo pendant from the evidence bag and everything had fallen into place.

"You've found my art room," Millander's voice spoke from the doorway behind him. "I don't usually allow people in here."

"I..." Gil turned slowly, so he could see Paul standing in the doorway. He'd left the cases out in the hallway, intending to leave them outside of the master bedroom. "I didn't mean to intrude on your private space, but... these are very good. I couldn't help but look at them."

"My entire house is a private space. I wouldn't have brought you here if I hadn't made that decision to let someone in," Millander said. "But as a Personal, I have... some measure of control over that. Please, look..." He smiled a little. "I'm afraid at least of portion of this time together will involve me sketching you."

As if that were some burden? Maybe for other people, but Gil did well with stillness and quiet, if that was what Millander wanted when he drew. The room was full of tiny things to observe and take note of, from eraser dirt to the way Paul's mouth tugged into a crooked smile. "I'd feel honored if you wanted to do that. I think it would be interesting to watch the artistic process. Your pictures are better than most of my Investigators' photography."

"I should add that perhaps some of the posing I had in mind, might involve the ...ah, equipment that Lady Heather so kindly provided for us," Millander said. "But I learn most about myself and others when I draw. Sometimes it's the only way I can see through to the heart of things."

Interesting. Gil filed that away in his mind, and set Paul's sketches carefully back down on the table. He didn't want to smudge any of them, not when they were dark and light shades of pencil. The sketches were a way of putting himself there, associating, maybe. Gil wasn't sure, but he'd work it out. "How you want to pose me doesn't matter. The restraints... are a bit like riding a roller coaster."

Millander raised his eyebrows. "Come have some coffee. I have to admit, I wouldn't have put you as someone who would choose that sort of approach...?"

Gil was glad that his amusement rose up fairly easily. Paul was... comfortable, in a way. It struck Gil as a little funny. "Neither would I have, but I was given a crash course."

"Ah." he actually chuckled. "The incomparable Lady Heather. Was she truly so impressive?"

"Mm. She was... very helpful." Paul was standing close, leaving Gil to wonder if it would be presumptuous to move closer to kiss him or...

He seemed to sense the moment and moved back, not ready for intimacy that wasn't on his terms. "I'd be interested to know what you tried and enjoyed."

Something else to note, and Gil shifted his muscles back subtly while he nodded, giving Paul his space. The last thing he wanted to do was unsettle the arrangement by being... too much himself. Too awkward, too unthinking about what to do. "I'll tell you about it over coffee."

Millander nodded, settling a little more. "Coffee it is Gil. I'm sure you'll like it. Blue Hawaiian."

---

Coffee was his lifeblood.

Nick wasn't sure when he'd switched from drinking sodas and beer to coffee and harder stuff, but he was pretty sure it had a lot to do with the job. And the fact that there was always a pot of coffee, really good coffee, on at the lab. One of these days, the coffee pot was going to blow up. Griss had said that one time the pot actually had caught some napkins on fire, but that was apparently a few coffee pots and quite a few years ago, and probably thousands of cases ago. Cases like what he and Greg were working on, which was why Nick had made an effort to arrive early. Ish.

Greg was already there, half propping himself up and staring at his mug as if the concept of lifting it to his mouth was a little beyond him. It was always difficult to tell if he was looking tousled because that was the style, or because he genuinely was feeling rough. Either way, his hair was pretty wild and he looked up at Nick as he came in. "Hey, boss."

"'Boss', huh? Don't let Catherine hear that," Nick smirked. "She's the boss right now. What the heck are you doing here so early?"

"Finishing up the DNA on those masks and other items," Greg replied. "Hey, I'm being your sidekick at the moment. Kinda like forensic superheroes here."

And there it was. The shift into Greg-space and the hyperness that came with it. It was usually a little more subtle than that, rather than a flick of a switch that proclaimed him weirdly abnormally normal, a fun guy and the type of person to grin and walk away shaking your head over.

"Forensic superheroes." Nick did shake his head a little, knowing that yeah... Greg made it really easy to do that. On purpose. "You feeling okay?"

"Hmm?" Greg looked at him. "Oh, hey yeah. Didn't get the sleep I should've. Waiting for the... coffee to kick in."

He meant something else entirely. Catherine had muttered something about if someone shook him, he'd rattle like a pill bottle, but that had been with his leg.

Nick picked up the carafe, and started to pour, peeking over his shoulder at Greg. His leg was still kinda hurting him, so maybe that was it. Greg looked a little rough, but... nothing too out of the ordinary. "Cool. Hey, did you get anything back on the masks and straws or anything else yet? You could leave it for dayshift to have done..."

"Yeah, I got a match to our vic," Greg replied finally drinking some of his waiting coffee. "And to two straws." He demonstrated by very elegantly sticking his two thumbs up each nostril and waggling them as he grinned. "And unknown epithelials on the other end."

Maybe it was the drugs that made Greg so off kilter. Maybe he was living off of those pain meds and no one had really noticed. Nick nodded as he wandered over to the fridge to grab the skim milk. "So, that fits Doc Robbins's declaration that asphyxiation was cause of death."

"It's difficult to get air through straws. Even two of them," Greg commented. "Uh, hey, is there anything to eat in there? I didn't have time to grab anything before I came out."

"Probably..." Nick bent for a second, peering into it. There was something in a sealed glass jar at the back that he really didn't want to know what it was. "Damn, man. Griss leaves town for a week, and he still leaves shit in the fridge. Uh, we've got a couple of Sara's yogurts, and hey, I've got a sandwich in here. You wanna eat that?"

"If I eat one of Sara's you'll be finding body parts all over the city," Greg shook his head. "Nah, leave it... that's yours. I'll get something later."

He still palmed it, and put it down on the table in front of Greg once he'd grabbed the milk. "Griss also has some of those weird candy-covered bugs in there if you want them."

"Ever tried one?" Greg asked obviously considering the prospect. He had to be ravenous to go that far. There was pact in the office never to succumb to Grissom's attempt to make them enjoy the goodness that was chocolate covered crickets.

"Nope. I take pride in knowing that that's one kind of candy I can look twice at and not want to eat. It's kinda messed up -- chocolate covered crickets?" Nick shook his head as he finally added the milk to his coffee. "Go on, eat that sandwich. I ate before I left home."

"You sure?" The fact he was reaching for it even as he asked made his question hopeful for a yes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Big huge bowl of corn flakes. Go on, eat it. We'll hit something drive-through when we're trying to figure out who the suspect is. Since we've got samples now, we need to find the exemplar, right? Our suspect." He still felt like he was flailing at what he was doing, even if it was fun.

"Lady Heather was getting us the paper work of clients that Mona saw," Greg reminded him. "And the fact her DNA is in the hood would pretty much mean she was subbing off the House records. How did the watch mold work out?"

"I poured it before we rolled out this morning, so..." Nick nodded his head at Greg, half-waiting for him to eat. "I guess we'll find out if I managed to do it without air bubbles, huh?"

"I thought I heard voices," Catherine walked in. "I swear, the Imperial Sheriff's Personal, Ecklie, must have been born to politick and suck ass." She paused a moment, taking in the sight of Greg eating quickly and hastily. "Nice, Greg... Nice."

Greg waved her a silent hello, with his mouth full of Nick's sandwich.

"How's the case?"

"It's going." Nick grinned a little as he leaned against the cupboard and slowly drank his coffee. Milky and unsweetened gave it just enough kick that he might be functioning. "We have a murderer's DNA, now we just need to find the murderer. It'd be easier if Griss was here..."

"You don't have to tell me that," Catherine replied grabbing a coffee of her own. "I know I've had to poke at him about paperwork, but... hell. I've never seen so much. Copies to every damn place you can imagine. And running a case at the same time and trying not to tell Ecklie that he should go back to his Master and have the steel rod up his ass adjusted for their mutual pleasure."

"Not the mental image I needed after the scene Greg processed last night," Nick murmured as he moved to sit down across from Greg at the table. "We were at this fetish place, because that's where the vic worked. Trained Personals for hire like Pleasure Slaves. It was weird."

"I bet they clear a lot per week," Catherine replied after a moments thought. "Weird?"

"Nicky's a vanilla kinda guy," Greg replied swallowing a part of the sandwich. "And this place? So not like that."

"And you're not a vanilla kinda guy?" Catherine asked.

Greg just shrugged with another convenient mouthful as Catherine smiled at her coworker.

"C'mon, Nick, you mean to say you've never done any of it?"

"Never," Nick confirmed as he sipped at the coffee, half-watching Greg eat and half-watching Catherine get her coffee together. "I mean. I can see why some people like it. Kinda. But I still think it was weird. People getting whipped and there was this guy who was sleeping chained up."

"That's tame stuff," Catherine half smiled. "Just because you haven't, Nicky, doesn't mean you couldn't. Maybe the guy likes sleeping that way. Now me? I'm more on the other side of the equation."

She gave the pair of them a long, speculatively teasing look up and down.

Nick shifted, jostled Greg's leg beneath the table with his own. Did it scare him worse that Gil liked to sleep chained up and Catherine had apparently thought about whipping people, or that everyone but him in the department was apparently deep down a kinky SOB? "Okay, that scares me. Greggo? Maybe we should cut and run before the new scary boss decides to prove any of that."

"I'm scared of her." Greg agreed. "Heel spikes. Scary. In so many different ways."

"I'm getting a whip and putting in on Grissom's desk for when you guys fail to do your reports in a timely fashion." Catherine replied smiling. "Anyway, this is still a priority case, Nick. That's what the ass-kissing Ecklie had to say. House connections with House Braun, concerns about internal House bias... blah, blah, blah. No slip ups."

"No slip-ups," Nick agreed as he shifted and started to stand up. "No internal House bias or blah blah blah."

Greg hastily followed. "Like Griss says, we follow the evidence, not the theory."

"You've learned well, grasshopper," Catherine replied. "I better go track down Warrick. He's meant to be meeting me to track down this getaway Honda. Sara's up in court. If you need anything, Nick? Call my cell."

Warrick probably didn't have any deep dirty sexual secrets. He had good taste, and that wasn't a secret, which made Nick wonder and daydream a little as he waited for Greg to catch up with him. Jesus, he didn't need that kind of distraction on the job.

"Will do. C'mon, Greg, let's see how my mold came out."

"Better than Grissom's in the fridge," Greg replied as he moved. He was limping again. On the other leg this time. "If it is something designer, we have a cool break."

"And we'll be spending the whole night going to different Jewelers," Nick pointed out. His eyes dropped a little to look at Greg's leg. "Hey, what happened to you?"

"Tripped up some steps," Greg said easily. "Right on my knee."

"Do you want to go by the morgue and get that looked at while I look at the molds?" Nick asked him seriously. Grissom would've offered the same option to Greg.

"It's just bruises-- a bruise." Greg replied. "It'll be fine if I walk it out. I don't want to miss the mold experience. I found that latex, I want to see how cool it is."

"Sure." Nick stepped into the side room, and set his coffee cup on a table near the door because they weren't really supposed to have food or drink in the area. "Here we go. That one there is Griss's mold from the woman's wrist, and this..." His was still taped down in the semicircular mold, rubber in latex that he carefully peeled apart.

"Hey, cool. No bubbles," Greg peered at it closely having followed suit. "Next time there's one of these? I want a go. It looks like a match to me. What do you think?"

"Yeah. It looks like that was the backside and this was the top." Nick peered at it, careful not to stretch it out of shape even though he was wearing his gloves. "What do you see there?"

"Looks like some sparkles around the edges." Greg looked at it. "And that's a wrist watch, not a cuff watch. That means the owner has to be a Freeman."

Was it wrong to feel a little surge of pride that Greg had put that together so smoothly? Nick grinned, and nodded his head faintly. "Exactly. That's probably why it left such a deep impression on her arm, because it had to be put on above the cuff, which meant it was going to be a tight fit. So... I'd say that's a lady's watch? See how small the face is? It's delicate looking." Side by side, the two molded pieces. "You good at sketching, Greg?"

"I can turn out something that's not too abstract. Aside from polymer chains. They pretty much look like squiggles at the best of times," Greg replied.

"Okay. You sketch, I'm going to look up some of the better jewelers who sell to Freemen." If he left Greg alone, even just for a little bit, maybe he'd relax and let his guard down. Maybe.

"Okay. I'll do my best," he replied with a nod. "This is the legwork stuff right?"

"Yep. Going from store to store, asking if anyone's seen this watch instead of if anyone's seen this person." Nick snapped one glove off, and reached for his coffee cup again. "I'll be back in about fifteen or so."

"I'll have something by then," Greg promised reaching for paper and pencil. He grinned at him a moment. "We're going to get this guy. That'll be good for the increments for you right?"

"Every solved case is good for that," Nick shrugged. "Same for you, getting some field work in."

That was kind of an odd thing for Greg to say, and Nick let that mull around in his head as he turned down the hallway to snag one of the computers in AV and start researching.

---