"What is it?" Brianna frowned, staring at the snapshot.

The doctor shrugged, handing her the picture.

"I want to say it's a tatoo..." the physician replied. "...but, the raised indentions on the skin...I believe it was burned into him."

"Burned?" Grissom frowned, standing behind Bri, looking over her shoulder at the polaroid.

"Mmm." the man nodded. "It looks like it's been there for awhile, too."

"Burned as in......branded?" Phil asked, lounging in the waiting room couch.

"Given the delicate design, I'd say it pretty improbable as just a random scar." the man nodded.

"...weird..." Ben Phillips said, as he leaned over Grissom and Brianna, finally getting to see the picture. RoboSquirrel hovered up above his head, watching all.

It seemed to be a....symbol, of some kind. And something sparked in Grissom's mind...something familiar...

"Anyway....just thought you'd want to see that." the resident physician commented, turning to leave. "Other than that, he's in absolute perfect health. Scary, really..."

"Thank you, doctor...." Montag nodded, looking back at the photo.

Staring at it with squinted eyes...

"Think it's a cult-like-thing?" Bri asked, looking up at her lover.

"What does it matter?" Ben asked. "I mean, the doc said he was healthy."

"Phillips is right." Smith nodded, standing up.

"I am?" Ben asked with wrinkled lips.

"We've learned enough about this man." Phil continued. "It's one thing to be cautious, but, it's another to intrude on his privacy."

"Oh gawd..." Montag sighed with a roll of his eyes. "...here we go again with your supposed Code of Ethics..."

"Come on, I'm serious. And you know I'm right." Smith punched him on the arm.

"....i swear to god if you hit me one more time...." Montag grumbled through a nasty stare.

"We've always respected each other's privacy, haven't we?" Phil asked. "This doesn't have to change now."

"Yes it does...." Brianna interjected. "....I mean, I never knew this organized, military-swat-team-Vanguard you two seem to pine after. I must have just missed it...."

Phil and Griss kind of shuffled their feet, looking around.

"....but, whether I did or not, it's not like that anymore." she continued. "Vanguard is no longer an army. It's just us..."

She motioned around at the four remaining Vanguardians.

"...it's just us. And...us have to be closer than we used to be. We have to trust each other more fully, because, we are the only things we can count on, now."

Everyone paused, thinking about what she was saying.

"...so, what do you suggest?" Phil asked her.

"Well, how about this...." she began. "....if he wants to help, good. I'll accept him. But, he's going to have to earn our trust. We can't just heap it on him freely as we've done so in the past."

"Agreed." Montag nodded, hoping that everyone in the room was currently remembering that he was shagging this woman three weeks out of the month.

"Smart." Smith agreed.

Grissom's eyes danced back to the photo....

"Hey, as I said earlier....more the merrier...." Phillips added. "I'm down with the party, and I brought the potatoe salad, know what I mean?"

Phil looked over to Ben.

"...no..." he replied.

"Dude, you are sooooo 'white'...." he shook his head.

"Latin."

Everyone paused, looking over at Montag.

"Griss?" Bri asked.

"Latin." he repeated, pointing at the symbol on the picture. "That's what this is..."

"Latin? As in, the language?" Smith frowned, coming over to have another look at the picture. "That doesn't look Latin to me. I know Latin. I've never seen anything like that."

"It's old." Montag explained. "Very...very old. History-old."

"Explain..." Smith shook his head, confused.

"Old mentor was a history-buff, you know...." Montag began. "...had all these books about the great empires of history. The greatest of civilizations."

He looked back at the picture.

"I've seen that symbol before. It's how the old gladiators were marked by their emperor. It's their slave-name..."

Phil's eyes stared at the picture, amazed at this information.

"This guy....this guy was....a slave?" he asked.

"I'm not saying that." Griss answered. "Just saying...that's what this is..."

"Well, what does it say?" Bri asked. "What's his name?"

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

Down the hall, the stranger finished buttoning the cuffs of a nice cream button-up. The burgandy vest stretched with splendor against a tightly-honed chest. Gray slacks, and black loafers made up the generous donation from Grissom Montag.

The man rubbed his face a bit, his newly shaven and bathed jaw a bit itchy. He leaned down, looking into the small table mirror in the examination room, staring at his own visage....



He leaned back up with a sigh, the face in the mirror a stranger....

He turned with the knock at the door, Grissom opening slowly.

"Can we come in?" he asked, Phil right behind him.

"Certainly." the man nodded.

"Hey, look at you..." Phil smiled in approval of his washed look.

"Yes." the man agreed, looking at Grissom. "I really must thank you for the clothes."

"Well, if you like that, you're going to love this...." the thief began. "...we think we have your name."

The man paused, staring at him.

"Really?"

"Yes." Montag nodded. "How does the name Tiberius sound?"

The man thought for a moment, the name seemingly ringing a bell with him.

"Yes.....yes...." he began. "....Tiberius...."