A/N: Whoa, how long has this new account set-up thingy been here? It totally threw me off. Just goes to show you how often I update e.e

Anyways, you guys, I'm really sorry SSM hasn't been updated in a while. It's for two reasons mainly. One is that there was a lot going on in my personal life. Finals, parental woes, you name it. But it's summer, so I should be able to keep a constant pace for a while. The other reason is that this chapter was really hard to write (I rewrote it five times). You're about to see why. But over half the time I was debating how far I should go with it. I didn't want to make any of you feel uncomfortable, so I decided to stop it where I did. It would really help if you guys gave me feedback on this.

Short Shorts and Morphos is nearing its end, unfortunately. Depending on how you guys like this chapter, there's a maximum of three to five chapters left for this story.

Which reminds me of the other reason why my updating is so slow- My mind can't seem to stop thinking of ideas! I'm already about three chapters into another fanfic (I might have mentioned it to you guys once or twice), and there are at least two more works in progress. Not to mention I need to get back to writing CSI song parodies...

OH! (Last thing, I promise!) Speaking of songs, I've recently fallen in love with the GSR score. Hopefully you all have heard of it. For those of you who haven't, it's the beautiful piano piece that plays in the background of most important GSR moments. The full one can be heard in Grissom's last scene. If you type in "the GSR score" into YouTube, you should find it no problem.

Thanks for bearing with me. I'm really sorry if I haven't been responded to your review, it's really hard for me to keep track of which ones I've replied to (I follow my emails). I promise to try and be better about that.

But enough about me. Without further ado, I now give you Chapter 13 of Short Shorts and Morphos!

Was he talking to me?

Sara started as she felt cold hands wrap around her upper abdomen and thighs. But her instincts told her not to resist.

She played dead as the hands swept her off the car's backseat and carried her through the air. Her limbs swayed in sync to footsteps.

Where am I?

She opened her eyes to find herself being brought into some sort of crude shack. She was taken through the door and deposited on a simple, cheap bed. The mattress was hard, and the frame was made of a carbon-black iron.

A mismatched gaze met hers. "Oh, good, you're awake."

Sara tried to move, but found that her limbs felt numb and lethargic. When she tried to lift her arm, it only twitched in its futile attempt to follow her brain's commands.

A chuckle. "Sorry, sweetheart, I see the drug hasn't fully worn off. My apologies."

The tone was not at all apologetic.

Sara's eyes raked over Ken in fury. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ken only gave a small smile, as he walked around to the head of the bed, so he was standing behind her. Ever so gently, he seized hold of one of her wrists and pressed it against the wrought iron headboard.

Sara hissed sofly as she felt stabs of pain encircle her wrist. Her head managed to loll back to see Ken fastening her arm to the bed with barbed wire.

"The hell…?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head, sweetheart," he cooed as he repeated the process with the other arm, then her legs.

As soon as he had finished, he glanced at her and gave her a wicked grin.

"It's just like old times, huh, sweetheart?"

Sara could only gape. Was this his true goal?

"The only difference is there is no safeword this time." His brown eye gleamed as his gaze slipped appreciatively over her body.

Once again, Sara tried to struggle. He tittered at her efforts.

"But wait, I almost forgot the most important part!" He gave her a wink and left the room.

She tried to reach into her jeans pocket for her phone, and was quickly given a painful reminder of her restraints. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she realized something was off. Literally.

Wait… where are my jeans?

She looked down to find herself outfitted in a knee-length satin teddy.

Oh, god.

But before she knew it, the drug kicked in again, and she was out like a light.

XXX
When Sara re-awakened, it took her eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness.

How long was I asleep?

She squirmed around and found that the mobility of her limbs had returned. She gave her fingers and toes an experimental wiggle.

Oh, crap. Where's Ken?

Almost as if on a cue, he walked in. Even in the poor lighting, she saw the gleam of his gold butterfly crown. Her eyes narrowed.

"Ken, what the hell are you doing." Even she was beginning to annoy herself with the monotony of the statement.

She expected a saccharine, honeyed response, in that suave purr of his. What she wasn't expecting was a hard, sharp-as-flint: "I'm taking back what is rightfully mine."

"Ken, we broke up –what – ten-odd years ago?"

His eyes blazed, and suddenly he lunged at her neck. She cringed and tried to pull away, but the barbed wire kept her rooted to the spot.

One hand was fastened around her neck- not tight enough to choke her; but enough to cause discomfort. "You left me." He straddled her, crouched, and leaned in close to her face.

She flinched at his breath. "Because you were abusing me!"

"Sara, it was roleplay!" His eyes glazed over and his free hand inched towards his crotch at the memory.

"Maybe at first! But then you stopped responding to our safeword, and you began to get violent. You were raping me, Ken." Sara surprised herself at how controlled her voice sounded.

His temper took over and he slammed her head against the mattress in frustration. He grabbed an old rag and hastily folded it lengthwise. He jammed the middle of it in between her teeth and tied the two ends at the nape of her neck.

Sara screamed into the gag in fury and tried to lunge at him, but yet again, the pronged wires dug into her wrist, holding her back.

Ken laughed evilly. "Oh, we're going to have a great time, sweetheart."

XXXXX

You can ask any person on law enforcement- if you were to inquire what their favorite part of being on the side of the law was (other than helping the people); 99% would, without hesitation, reply that it was the fact that they never got tickets.

It was an unspoken rule among all police, that whether they were highway patrolmen or lab technicians, deputy sheriffs or detectives- you were to never, ever give one of your own a ticket. It would be like purposely making sure a buddy got a DUI when he was drunk. It just went against the law enforcement code of ethics.

Usually, Grissom was a part of the small 1% which did not take advantage of the no-ticket law. He felt as if it was unfair.

Today, however, was an entirely different story.

Taking the freeway to the airport to pick up his team, there was rarely a time when his car was going less than 80 mph. Swerving from lane to lane, he barked orders to Brass (who remained in Vegas) into his phone.

He switched lines for a brief second to check on the team's status.

"Grissom; we just got through customs. We'll be out front in five minutes." Catherine told him briskly.

Although Grissom knew Catherine couldn't see it, he nodded, and switched back to Brass.

Soon, he veered up to the designated pick-up traffic loop. Heads turned when his tires screeched in protest as he stomped on the brake in order to avoid overshooting the spot and missing where Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg were waiting.

Grissom's fingers drummed impatiently on the steering while the others piled in. He was relieved when his assistant supervisor sat shotgun.

"Any updates?" She asked breathlessly.

He mutely shook his head. "God, Catherine… I don't even know where to start looking."

She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry. We'll find her."

A/N: Sorry for stopping it where I did; I wanted you guys to get this as soon as possible. Please R&R, they really affect this story and my writing in general. I don't care if they're good or bad, I always welcome constructive criticism. Thank you 3