Sara stood up
Authors Note: Okay, I didn't really know what to rate this, because there's a death in it and that, and I didn't really know how graphic it was. So, to cover myself, the death scene is from a book called The Sleepwalker by Robert Muchamore (it's a really good book, you should read it) and that's for teenagers, so I'm rating it T. Please excuse the swearing. :P
Disclaimer: If I owned CSI I wouldn't be writing a oneshot inspired by a book for teenagers about their characters, would I?
Warning: Character death, but I think you should read it anyway tbh;) And review, because I'm not sure about this one. I don't think it's that great. /
Sara stood up. No matter how long she tried to hold off not going to the toilet, she could never last long. As she stood up, the floor shuddered violently, and there was a grinding sound as the plane rolled forcefully on to one side. Sara's hip slammed painfully into the seat across the aisle, and within a second her feet were off the ground, and her head smashed into a tray table as she began a helpless slide across the laps of three passengers towards the window.
She slammed into the window headfirst, and screamed in pain, as the man in the middle caught the waistband of her jeans and slammed one hand against her chest, pinning her body against the seatbacks. It knocked the wind out of her, but his hands were all that kept her from crashing into the overhead lockers and light fittings as the aircraft continued to roll.
Screams started up as people realised the aircraft was flying upside down. Sara's long legs dangled as plastic cups, spectacles, meal trays and iPods rained on the plastic ceiling. Her hair hung over her head, partially obscuring her vision, but she could make out a steward who'd been walking down the aisle slamming into the roof.
There was some relief as the plane righted itself, and a round of applause. Although the plane continued to shudder, some sense of normality was restored as people realised that they were the right way up, and, for the moment at least, stating there.
"Everybody get into your seats and fasten your belts!" a steward shouted abruptly as he made an athletic leap over the overturned trolley in the aisle and rushed to help his stricken colleague. Sara pulled herself back into the aisle, one hand on her head as she thanked her saviour. She glanced around at the rest of the plane. Everyone, not knowing what to expect, had cast their eyes upwards, as if awaiting instructions from God.
She climbed back into her seat, and fastened her seatbelt tightly. She was sat in an otherwise empty row of three seats, and she chose the end one. For one wonderful minute it seemed like everything was back to normal. Indeed, Sara would have seriously considered the possibility it was a dream brought on by a jet-lagged mind, if it wasn't for the searing pain through her head.
Down near the galley between business class and economy, an Asian doctor was crouched over the steward who'd hit the ceiling and cricked her neck. But as air rushed noisily past, passengers were unsettled by intermittent shudders ripping through the airframe. The pilots couldn't devote their time to staring out the side of the aircraft, so the stewards passed through the plane, asking everyone in a window seat to look outside for anything unusual.
Sara flicked her television screen on, sighing as the need to pee grew worse. The red trail behind the aircraft on the screen had almost doubled back on itself, and was pointing to Paris. She pressed the down arrow, and swore as she realised they'd lost four thousand metres height.
"Ma'am, something just broke away!" gasped the man on the window seats a row behind her. He was Texan, and something in his face reminded her of Nick. She bit her lip, as the woman in front of him, five seats away nodded. "We're moving pretty fast, but it was rectangular. Like a strip of metal or something." She had blonde shoulder-length hair and a kind face. Catherine.
She turned back to her screen and worked out that they were at least an hour away from dry land, another half an hour added on to that until they landed at Paris. Everyone went silent as an upbeat voice came on the intercom.
"Hi, this is Charlie, your co-pilot. We're still trying to understand exactly what happened to our aircraft, but I can confirm that we're having some difficulty controlling the plane due to a partial failure of the hydraulic system. We have now successfully adjusted our course for the nearest airport, and expect to be making a landing at Charles de Gaulle airport as a precautionary measure in eighty-five minutes. To help you relax, we've taken the entertainment system out of emergency mode. However, we would ask that all passengers remain seated for the remainder of this flight."
"We're getting lower," Sara muttered to herself, noting the 500m drop. There was a loud scream from economy, and a hushed whisper in business class.
"Something about a crack."
"Huge crack in the wing?"
"Crap, you've got to be kidding."
"There's a crack over the wing."
A stewardess sprinted past, from the bottom of economy, up to the cockpit, as Sara noticed they were losing height again. The man who had saved her became Grissom, and she looked up to see him staring at her, his own screen on the flight information. She couldn't bear to look at him, as he carefully placed his passport in his shirt pocket for identification of his body, and turned around.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Charlie, your co-pilot." This time he'd lost his cool. "I'm sorry to say we've received reports of a serious flaw in the airframe. Although we have some degree of control, we're currently finding it impossibly to maintain height. We are in touch with engineers at our base in London, and we're doing all we can, but I must now ask you to listen carefully to the cabin crew, who will instruct you on the safe use of your life jackets.
"We're going to die," gasped a young black girl, as the plane juddered and oxygen masks dropped down. Her father attempted to fix one to her face, but it didn't work. He turned around in desperation, and Sara blinked, seeing Warrick. A look of understanding passed between them, and he unbuckled his daughter's seatbelt, helping her into the seat next to Sara. Then she blinked again, and he turned back into a stranger, a stranger entrusting one of his children to her in their last moments.
She fastened her own oxygen mask, and a male steward began a tannoy announcement.
"At this time we would like to ask all passengers to remove their life vest from the pouches beneath heir seats and place them over their heads, in anticipation of a landing in water. Do not, I repeat, do not inflate the life vest until you have left the aircraft. Keep your laps clear and listen for an announcement from the cockpit. You must be ready to adopt the brace position as soon as you are told to do so. For this reason, please avoid using the oxygen masks unless necessary. The cabin crew will now be taking to their seats and will not be able to provide passengers with further assistance."
Sara helped the little girl on with her life vest, and took the oxygen mask from her. The man in front turned around, and she saw Warrick again as he made sure it was alright for his daughter to sit there, in case the oxygen masks did indeed become necessary.
Sara nodded tightly, and the man thrust a hand between the seats, to hold his daughters hand. His arm was bent at an awkward angle, and his face tautened with pain and determination as he held onto both of his children.
-
"Who's died?" Greg crossed the break room to reach his coffee. It was a long shift, and a boring one at that. He'd escaped from the trace room, where Hodges had been demonstrating his superior ability in everything, only moments previously, and the atmosphere change between the two rooms was astounding.
The trace room had been full of laughter, whilst he and Hodges took part in a trace race, bantering constantly, but the break room was silent, and serious.
"Erm…Sara," Nick murmured. There was a crash as the cup Greg was holding hit the floor.
"You're shitting me man." He even attempted a chuckle, but it came out as a sort of desperate hiss. He turned his attention to the tv in one corner, and finally tuned in.
"Fire fighters are desperately trying to keep the blaze under cont-"
"Man, don't joke about that, it's sick!" Greg snapped, hitting Nick on the shoulder.
"No Greggo. Read the text."
"The what?"
"The text. At the bottom. That's going across the screen?" Nick pointed out, standing up. Warrick, consoling a deadly silent Catherine, looked up at him.
"You gonna break the news to Grissom?"
"Damn right I am, he needs to know."
The conversation passed by Greg's ears as he concentrated on the slow moving text. It had always infuriated him, passing by so quickly, but now it moved so slowly, crawling across the screen, and he found himself leaning forward, waiting impatiently for the next word.
THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOUR PASSENGERS AND ELEVEN CREW-MEMBERS ARE MISSING PRESUMED DEAD AFTER FLIGHT NUMBER IA261 CRASHED INTO THE ATLANTIC OCEAN SIX HOURS PREVIOUSLY. THE OFFICIAL SEARCH AND RESCUE OPERATION HAS BEEN HALTED, AND DEBRIS IS NOW BEING SALVAGED TO DETERMINE PRECISELY WHAT WENT WRONG.
"Irish Airlines flight number two-six-one." It was a monotone, and Warrick moved from holding Catherine to grasp Greg's shoulder.
"Six hours? How can they give up after just six hours!" He glanced at his watch. It was eleven o clock. "She's been dead for six hours," he murmured, sitting down sharply.
"Hey man, don't say that."
"She's presumed dead. Did you know you can't land in the sea? They put life vests on aeroplanes but nobody in history has ever used one successfully."
"How do you know that?" asked Warrick gently, obviously knowing better than to try and disagree with Greg.
"Sara told me. Yesterday, when I rang her. She saw it on Discovery Channel." Greg's voice wavered. "Man, this is such shit." He leapt to his feet, and kicked a table angrily. "Fuck," he swore, hopping about on one foot, bent over holding the other.
-
She looked around desperately. She had no family, only her team. And she'd seen them all. Apart from Greg. She looked around desperately, but his face didn't jump out. With a panic, she realised she couldn't remember what he looked like, what he sounded like. She sobbed as she remembered him begging her not to travel to England, to visit a long lost aunt. But she'd been desperate for someone to call real family. He'd said she didn't need that, that she had the team. But he had family. They all did. And she hadn't listened to him. She closed her eyes as she realised that if she'd listened to him, she wouldn't be about to spend her last few minutes sitting in this seat, sweating and desperate for the toilet.
The height displayed on the LCD was rapidly closing on a thousand metres. She closed her eyes, desperate to hear Greg's voice. She visualised him in her mind, his sparkling eyes, his easy grin. She remembered his wit, his strength. And his gentleness and empathy. He'd always been there, laughing at her, hugging her, calling her his sunshine. But she'd never been content, always turned him down. And look where it had got her now. She went down the backseat pocket, and grabbed the children's pack she'd discovered when the plane had left Heathrow several hours previously. She unzipped the plastic case and took out a tiny spiral bound notepad and a cheap Biro.
Resting the pad on her knee, she gripped the Biro in her shaking fist. She thought about writing how scared she was, but she knew how sad he'd be when he read it, and she didn't want to make him feel worse. She'd look after his feelings now, even if it was too little too late. She scrawled as quickly as she could, before closing the notepad and sliding it inside the waterproof bag in her handbag. She always kept one in there, and now she was glad. Her phone was next to it, and she remembered the photos on there, and put it inside too. Anything to offer scant comfort.
"What are you doing?" the small girl asked next to her.
"I was writing a message to someone," she explained.
"I want to do one!" the girl said, and her dad handed her her own notepad and pen.
"What did you write?"
"Draw your mummy a picture," Sara suggested. "She'll like that." The little girl wrote London and started drawing the London Eye as Sara searched for a plastic bag to knot it in. As she came up triumphant, she saw the flight information on her screen. Where height had been, the word ERROR replaced. The sound of the aircraft deepened as it closed on the water.
"Brace, brace, brace" came over the tannoy.
Sara pressed the top of her head against the seat in front of her and the little girl screamed in protest.
"I need to finish drawing," she shouted, as Sara bundled her forward.
-
"Fuck this for a laugh," Greg snapped, getting down from the counter he was sat on. He weaved his way through the many people glued to the television, and stormed down the corridor to Grissom's office, determined to tell him he was off shift. A panting Nick greeted him at the door, alongside several cockroaches. Greg stood on one as he walked in, and was aware of the howling inside rising another decibel.
"He's been like that since I told him," Nick whispered.
"What, crying? And dude," Greg complained, stamping on another cockroach "what's with the bugs?"
"He dropped a jar of cockroaches and started crying."
"Yeah, but is that because of Sara, or because he dropped a jar of cockroaches?" Greg asked somewhat sceptically.
"Man, I know you've been all dubious and shit about their relationship, but let it go for a bit yeah? Times of need and all that."
"Yeah. Right. Times of need. Grissom, I'm off."
Nick looked at his broken boss to his friend in disbelief, before following Greg.
"Greg man, what's up?"
Greg froze, before turning around slowly, glaring. "I've just discovered that the unicorns inside my head are killing themselves."
"Okay, ask a stupid question…" Nick held his hands up in surrender. "But man, I know this must have affected you but-"
"No Nick. You have no idea how much this has affected me." His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Nick sighed. "You loved her."
Greg ignored him, started pacing back and forth in the corridor. "I've called her mobile like, a million times, it's just off man, I swear. She's in the air, she's alive, she's not dead."
"She's gone Greg." No matter how gently Nick tried to say it, he knew how harsh the words would be, how much they would upset Greg. He sniffed loudly, turned on his heel, and stalked off. Nick hesitated, before following him.
"I don't want company Nick," he said coldly.
"C'mon Greggo, I'll drive you home."
"You haven't signed out."
"Neither have you."
"Good as. I told Grissom."
"I get the feeling he might not have heard you."
"I get the feeling he might not care!" Greg shouted, banging the steering wheel, before regaining his composure. "Nicky, get in or get out, but you're not driving."
"Where are you going?"
"Airport."
"What for?"
"Wait for her flight to come in."
"Greg-"
"In or out?"
"…in" Nick sighed, after weighing up the pros and cons. There were other people in the building that could comfort Grissom and catch the cockroaches. Greg, on the other hand, was driving, and his emotions made him a hazard.
-
There was a noise a hundred times louder than anything Sara had ever heard as they hit the ocean. She could feel the hairs in her ears dance. Her seatbelt tore into her stomach as her head hit the seat in front of her with such force that the plastic buckled. The man in the row behind was obese, and his own stomach prevented him from leaning far enough forwards to brace properly. The bones in the man's face shattered as it slammed into the back of Sara's seat at more than three hundred kilometres an hour. Sara's seatback crumpled under the man's weight, crushing her body until her ribs shattered.
Warm blood spilled up from Sara's throat as her airway flooded. All the cabin lights went out. She couldn't' breathe, and she could hear people screaming, but only in one ear; the other was filled with blood. Then the plane seemed to cartwheel. Her feet were over her head, and then there was a flash of sunlight – perhaps the fuselage had snapped in half. Sara tried to work it out but her head was numb and her own blood blocked her eyes. Her lids were stuck fast and she could see all kinds of crazy lights and patterns in her mind. They were the last things she ever saw.
-
"I've got a bag."
"So?"
"It's waterproof and there's stuff inside it." Teresa had been working on this boat for two years. It had been deployed from England, an hour previously, and was searching amongst the debris. They were meant to be picking everything up, they were going to practically rebuild the plane to find out what had gone wrong. And here she had found a plastic bag.
She opened it carefully, and a dry phone and notepad fell out. She switched the phone on first.
5 missed calls from Greg.
It was only then that it occurred to her that the plane crash had broken America's headlines. She scrolled to look at the display. The calls ranged from 23:03 Vegas time to five minutes ago. She dialled voicemail.
23:03 PM.
"Sara, please. Pick up. Please Sara, you've gotta pick up. You weren't on that plane, tell me you weren't on that plane. Tell me you were late, your hairdryer set your hotel room on fire, tell me you missed that plane."
23:15
"SARA! Pick up your damn phone! Please!" His voice wobbled. "You can't be dead Sara. I need you. We all need you."
01:07
"Sara we're at the airport, me and Nick. He didn't want to come, but I insisted. You're not dead. I'm going to sit on this damn chair until you walk out of the arrivals terminal right in front of me." There was a slight scuffle, before Greg's voice came back. "Sara? Nick's being a bastard, he says I should stop talking you. I-IloveyouSarabye"
01:43
"Nick's gone to the toilet, but I have to be quick." He was whispering, as if Nick could possibly hear him. "I need you to know. I should have told you. But you're so happy with Grissom. I didn't want to ruin that. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway. It doesn't matter. It never has. I've never mattered. But Sara, you matter. Just the thought of you pulls me through hard times, the closest I may ever get to you is dreams, however inappropriate," she could tell he was smiling as he added this, "but I can't carry on without you knowing. I love you. And I mean that. I-shit, Nick, let me finish, please! I need you because I love you, and if you are dead, then I don't know how I can exist, I-" he stopped, and a voice with a Texan twang could be clearly heard. "Greg man, let go."
9:55
"Goodbye Sara." Teresa sighed. The man sounded so broken. She thought about ringing him, telling him she'd found the phone, but what good would that do? He would get his hopes up to see Sara ringing on his phone, to be told what? That she'd been crushed to death instead of drowning?
She opened the notepad, and found a scrawled note. She closed it as soon as she saw the first word, realising it wasn't a note for public consumption. She paused, her mind whirring, before she picked up Sara's phone, and scrolled down to Nick.
-Two weeks later-
Greg gazed at the notepad in front of him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what it said. He still couldn't accept she'd gone. She'd meant so much. He was coping badly. They all were; Las Vegas unsolved crime rates had soared. But he was coping worse. His phone bleeped.
1 SMS from Nick
Greggo, you've got closure in front of you. Use it.
He nodded his head, before flipping open the notepad.
Greg,
I haven't got much longer. You were right about the whole family thing. You're always right. I only needed you guys, but mostly you. You've always been there for me. I realise that now, and I'm sorry. These last few minutes, I've seen everyone. Nick saw part of the plane rip away, Catherine was sat in front of him. Grissom saved me from hitting my head on the ceiling when the plane rolled and Warrick is sat in front of me holding his children's hands. But I can't see you. Because there is no one like you. I love you. Oh god, I love you. Too much. It was too powerful Greg, I had to deny it. Maybe it's better I did. You won't hurt so bad.
I love you Greggo, and when I see you in Hell (because lets face it, neither of us are gonna make Heaven) you owe me a date. ;)
-Your sunshine
x
He let out a howl of anguish, slamming down on the kitchen table, the notepad clutched tightly in his trembling hand. She was gone. His sunshine was gone.