Plop, Plop, a csi fanfic

AN: I do not own CSI or any of its characters.

I wrote this story while it was raining here tonight. I am still in shock over the season finale and I wanted to express what Grissom might be feeling. This is a short one shot story.

Plop

Plop.

The raindrops hit his cheek. He watched the tiny drops bounce off of the stained pavement in front of him. He was transfixed by them. He had often wondered how such insignificant misshapen spheres could cause so much havoc when grouped together. Floods, storms, hurricanes, tsunamis. Such horrendous tragedies all from a collection of drops. Thousands dead from water. The Earth's lifegiver. The water had tried to take Sara once. How ironic, he thought, considering we live in the desert. The floods had attempted to claim her, to snuff out her life in its waves. It had tried to wash her soul away. But she had won. She triumphed over the storm.

Plop.

The drops grew bigger now. They fell onto his hands. No matter how hard they fall, he thought, the blood will still be there. He knew at once how Lady MacBeth had felt when she cried, "Out, Out, dammed spot!". The blood seemed to permeate his skin. He could feel it joining his blood and coursing through his veins. Pump, pump, went his heart, circulating the blood once again. His friend's blood. Warrick's blood.

Plop.

The drops seemed warm now. Slowly raising his head he caught a glimpse of Catherine's face. Her head was buried into his shoulder but he couldn't feel her. He was numb. She clawed at his jacket and screamed in his ear, but he couldn't move. He didn't flinch when she fell prostrate on the pavement and pounded it with her fists. He simply sat there in the rain.

Plop.

A child's song ran through his mind and he wondered if he were going insane.

"Rain, rain, go away, little Gilbert wants to play." His mother sang that every time it rained. He wished the rain would stop. He wanted to play. He wanted to go outside and stare at the crashing ocean waves. He wanted to smell the salty air and feel the grainy sand under his toes. He sighed deeply and shook the thoughts from his foggy brain. He noticed that Catherine was gone. Everyone was gone. He was alone and it was daylight now. He wondered how long he had been sitting on the curb next to Warrick's car. He started to raise himself from the pavement but his stiffened knees wouldn't move. He remained where he had been for hours, holding Warrick's keys in his hand. He vaguely remembered someone from days trying to take them from him and that he had fought like a tiger for them.

Plop.

His tears fell onto the pavement. A torrent of anguish and anger burst forth. Mother Nature's wrath was pale in comparison to his flood. He let loose and was vaguely aware that the animalistic scream reverberating off the alley walls was coming from his parched lips.

"Gil, let's go home."

Brass had returned and was standing above him. He looked up through reddened eyes and nodded. Brass pulled him to his feet and they slowly started towards Brass's car. Brass stopped him before they got in and held out an evidence bag. Gil reluctantly opened his hand and dropped the keys inside. Brass saw the indentations in his blood stained palm. Gil stared at the bruises that were starting to form and traced them lightly with his other hand. The tears continued to fall.

Plop.