A/N: Ok, if it's at all possible, while you read this story, I'd suggest you listen to How to Save a Life by The Fray. Simply because that song inspired me to write this, and I listened to it while I wrote. I think it adds something to the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or the song How to Save a Life by The Fray, and I'm not making any money off of this. Though it would have been nice…
How to Save a Life
"There was nothing anyone could do…"
"Dead on arrival…"
"Shot to the head… no chance…"
"He was right there when it happened…"
The words disappeared into the cold night air, vaporizing with Grissom's breath as he sat numbly on the curb in front of the dark house. His body shivered uncontrollably, but he did not notice. A paramedic tried to drape a blanket across his shoulders. He pushed it away.
Around him, cops rushed to and fro. Ambulance lights flashed. He saw none of this, though. The only thing he saw was Jill Murphy, sitting flung back against her big, high-backed chair, her face non-existent.
"When she was little, we used to turn on the air conditioner and then light a roaring fire and sit in this chair together. Sometimes I would read her a story. Sometimes she would tell me one."
He saw the blood that soaked the pale pink fabric; saw the blood that stained his own face and hands.
"It'll be ok, Jill."
"No, she's gone. My baby's gone."
"Just put the gun down."
"I can't…"
"Jill, you can. Look at me. Put the gun down."
"No… you promised."
The shot rang in his ears. The anguish on her face dissolved in a mist of blood and brain and bone fragments. He felt the burning impact of those tiny red droplets against his skin.
"I promise to you that I will find her killer."
How had it come to this? How could it come to this…
"Mr. Grissom… Gil… what happened? You were so sure… you said…"
"I know. I'm sorry."
As though 'I'm sorry' could fix anything. Her daughter was dead. The killer walked free. And Gil Grissom was at fault.
"Just put the gun down."
"I can't…"
"… Look at me. Put the gun down."
"No… you promised."
His body trembled harder now, though no longer from the cold. He leaned over as the world spun about him, and clutched his knees to his chest. An agonized sob rose in his throat, and suddenly tears were pouring down his face. People behind the tape stared; pointed; whispered. All he knew was the accusing look in Jill Murphy's eyes.
"You promised."
Somewhere, tires squealed; doors slammed. Through the haze of pain and tears, he saw his team. They moved as though in a mire of fog, their eyes wide and their lips forming questions he couldn't answer.
"You promised… you promised… you promised…"
They reached him after an interminable amount of time; stood about him as the ragged sobs clutched his body, and wondered what to do.
And then Sara gently pushed them aside; knelt before him, the halo of a streetlight framing her face.
"Hey, Gil. It's all right, baby."
"I promised," he rasped, pain welling in his chest.
She said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Her arms wrapped around him, and his head fell to her shoulder.
His body collapsed into her embrace, and his tears slowly washed the blood from his face.
"Look at that," Nick said, so softly his voice could be barely heard. "Just look at them. I never guessed. I never guessed."
No one else spoke. Jill Murphy's body was carried to the ambulance, draped in a white sheet. Around them, the world faded away.
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life…