BE WARNED: This is going to be angsty stuff - no funny business here!

My first "official" WIP, so reviews are welcomed!

A Million thank you's to my beta, sweet-surrender5, for keeping me on track and for fantastic advice! Where would I be without you? (I shudder to think...ha ha!)

Yes - I own them. Off course I do! Hurrah! My life long dream has been accomplished!

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A Bad Idea

"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Brass was wearing a massive grin as Grissom came up and stood next to him. In the deep twilight that had started to envelop the desert around them, the homicide detective could just about make out the face of the CSI, and he smirked as he saw Grissom struggle to keep the disapproving look on his face, and his lopsided grin off it.

"Well – hello Jim. Fancy meeting you here."

"Nothing fancy about it, my friend. I told the sheriff that if I had to ride a desk one more day, I was quitting…"

"Apparently the threat worked?"

"I'm here aren't I? Bright eyed and bushy tailed, as usual. Tell you what's not usual though," Brass pointed to the CSI's hip, "that gun in your pocket."

Grissom scowled as he placed his field kit on the ground, took out a pair of latex gloves, and snapped them on irritably before he replied. "Technically, the gun is in a holster Jim, not my pocket. New departmental rules – "carry your weapon whenever you're at a scene." It seems that while you were out of action, the sheriff got bored and decided to take his inadequacies out on me instead."

"Yeah, life's a bitch ain't it," Brass snorted. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed these little tête-à-têtes. "But I've been telling you to carry your piece for years now, so for once, the sheriff and I are on the same page. I realise better than anyone that you never know what's gonna happen on this job."

Grissom glowered silently as he fingered the butt of the gun on his hip. "The damn thing weighs a ton and gets in my way. I'm a scientist, not Billy the Kid." He was quiet for a few seconds, watching the buzz that always surrounded a new crime scene – various uniformed personnel scurrying around and the lights on top of the police cars bathing the pictures in front of him in alternate red and blue hues as they flashed. Jim might be right – after what happened to him and Nicky, a gun might not always be the worst thing in the world…

"So – are you going to tell me what we've got, or are we going to shoot the breeze all night long?"

"You working solo tonight?"

"Catherine's meeting me here. I had to pull her off a "suspicious circs" in town. Busy night – we're tapped out."

"Well, it's about to get busier. Young Caucasian female, appears to have been sexually assaulted, strangled, stabbed and shot. Couple of hikers saw a leg poking out of the clump of bushes about 50 yards that way, went over to investigate, and hey presto."

"Strangled, stabbed…and shot?"

"Far as I can tell. And from the smell, I'd guess she's been here a couple of days. We're still waiting for someone from the coroner's office, so that's just my humble, preliminary opinion..."

"Hey boys!"

Both men turned as Catherine joined them, her blonde hair fluttering in the cold desert breeze. It was almost the end of November, and there was a decided frostiness in the air – a fact confirmed by the way her warm breath formed clouds of white steam as she spoke.

"Nice to see you back in the field again, Jim. You wanna tell me what we got?"

Grissom wandered over to the thicket that Brass had pointed out as the detective began to fill Catherine in. Until David arrived, he couldn't touch the remains, but nothing prevented him from taking a look in the meantime.

The naked body of the young woman was sprawled partly under the brush, ghostly pale and almost luminescent in the feeble moonlight. With a curt nod and quiet word, Grissom sent the waiting cop away. He needed time alone with the body.

Needed time to think.

He winced as he shone his flashlight over her. She couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty years old, with long blonde hair and a face that – Grissom surmised – was very pretty when she was alive. But now her features were contorted, her mouth twisted in a silent scream – an indication of the horrors she experienced during her last moments.

"Do not go gentle into that good night…rage, rage against the dying of the light," Grissom murmured softly to himself.

Rage she certainly did – the defensive wounds on her hands and arms seemed to have happened while trying to ward off the slashes of a knife, and leaning closer, Grissom could see that a nail on her right hand was broken. Good. If you scratched him, his DNA under your fingernails will be all the evidence we'll need.

"Was Brass right?"

Catherine came up behind him, her flashlight sweeping over the body at his feet as she raked her eyes over the ground in front of her. Grissom gave her a few moments to acquaint herself with the scene before he answered.

"Defensive wounds look like they might be from some kind of blade. Ligature marks round her throat, and two points of entry, maybe from…a 9mm? We'll know more once David gets here."

"Wow. So the perp was…what? Over zealous? A novice? Just…having fun?"

"Possibly, all of the above." Moving cautiously round the body, Grissom sank to his haunches and snapped a few photos of the ground in front of him. "I've got blood…and it seems to be leading away from the body." Digging a swab out of his pocket, he dipped it into one of the drops in front of him and with a startled grunt, twisted his body round to face Catherine. "And it seems to be fresh…"

"Fresh?" Catherine looked at him with stunned disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Catherine - I'm pretty sure I can recognise fresh blood when I see it."

Rolling her eyes, she walked over and crouched beside him, studying the swab with animated interest. "I'm confused. The body's obviously been here at least a couple of days. Where did fresh blood come from?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Getting to his feet, Grissom flashed his light along the trail of blood leading away from the body and disappearing into the desert. "You coming?"

Looking at him incredulously, Catherine groaned. "You're joking right? We're going to wander off into the darkness, when a psycho killer could quite possibly be hiding behind the nearest rock? Uh…thanks, but…no."

"Typically, rapists will take a trophy from their victim and then leave the scene of the crime, so no - I don't expect to find any…"psycho killers"…hiding behind the rocks." Flipping his cell phone open, Grissom started dialling a number. "Hey, Jim? Yeah. We're going to take a quick stroll round the perimeter. Phone me when David gets here OK?" He snapped the phone shut and picked up his field kit.

"Gil…"

"Catherine, the place is crawling with cops. Plus, thanks to the kind ministrations of our dear sheriff, I now have to carry a loaded weapon whenever I set foot outside the lab, so never fear - I'll protect you."

Catherine snorted. "Huh. Thanks, but mercifully I carry a gun of my own, so you just try and keep up Dirty Harry."

With that she marched off, the lone yellow beam from her flashlight scanning methodically through the sea of darkness around her. Grissom turned from her for a moment to steal a last glance at the corpse near his feet – and noticed something fluttering on a branch near the dead woman's head. Treading softly, he leaned over and plucked the object from the bush. Material. Cotton? Torn from the suspect's shirt perhaps?

"Cath? Come take a look at this, will you!" he called, but the background hum of the people and cars in the distance were the only answers he got. Half turning in her direction, and yelling over his shoulder, he tried again – louder this time. "Catherine!"

Still nothing.

With an exasperated sigh he turned completely, expecting to see the glow from her flashlight bobbing around in the blackness behind him, but instead only an impenetrable wall of inky shadows greeted him.

No flashlight.

No Catherine.

Swallowing hard to try and rid himself of the slight flutter in his stomach, he pulled his cell from his pocket. No need to start panicking just yet. He let the phone ring for a full minute before he ended the unanswered call. Stabbing at the keypad again, he dialled a second number. "Jim…it's me. Is Catherine with you?"

"Nope – last I saw of her, she was heading over to you. Are you two done with your little stroll? Cause the Coroner's van just pulle—"

"Brass, she's gone."

"What are you talking about?"

"I took my eyes off her for a minute, and now she's gone. She's not answering her cell and I can't see her anywhere…" Grissom's voice trailed off. Shit! Walking around in the dark without backup had been my half assed idea. Where the hell is she?

"I'm going to look for her. I'm just north of the body. Send some backup over just in case, will you?" His calm voice belied the way the cell was trembling as he held it against his ear. Please let her be OK. Please let her be OK…

Grissom snapped his phone shut as he pulled his gun from its holster. His unease was growing - a tight, painful knot right in the pit of his stomach. Striding through the darkness, he swept the beam of his powerful flashlight from side to side, calling Catherine's name loudly as he went. Everything else was eerily quiet, as if Mother Nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Where the hell is she? It's not like her to just drop off the face of the planet, she would've checked in with either me or Brass by now…

Bellowing her name again, Grissom leaned tiredly against a rocky outcrop, and wiped at the beads of cold sweat on his forehead. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself and contemplated what to do next.

He didn't have to speculate for long.

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A/N: Lemme know what you think!