Title: Down the Hallway
Disclaimer: Don't own the show, but I wish I did
Summary: Set before Millander killed himself, and before Sara made up her
mind not to quit Vegas CSI. Millander has kidnapped Grissom, and when he is
found, Sara makes a decision. GSR.
Sara Sidle walked down the hallway leading up to Grissom's room. She walked there with a newfound confidence; head held high, arms swinging defiantly at her side. She was a forensic investigator after all, and without such a stance, she would've never been able to face the gruesome looks of death that she did every day on the job. But as Sara got closer to Grissom's door, that stare-death-in-the-face stature weakened, and then slumped into fatigue. 3 doors away... 2 doors away... 1 door away... And finally she was there, her hand on the cool metal of the door. And then...
It raced through her memory, an endless, dizzying fog of events. Her emotions screamed and blurred as she felt 20 different things at once. Fear, determination, vengeance. The FBI accompanied the team of fellow CSI's as the invaded what they were certain was the "headquarters" of Paul Millander-were he had been holding Gil Grissom for the last 2 ½ weeks. It was a huge, seemingly empty one-room warehouse, the smell of mold and the abandonment of time reeked from the sogging beams of its foundations. The FBI agents, in groups of 4 ran down to cover the seemingly endless corners of the warehouse with trained precision. Meanwhile, the CSI's scattered, most plunging strait ahead into the unknown-into this layer of a madman. And for the first, and possibly last time in their careers, each and every one of them had their weapons drawn. Sara, gun strait pointed strait ahead, watched as the agents ran, and then did the same after Warrick. "GRISSOM! GRISSOM!" She screamed, on her face a look of frantic fear. It was a look all of them wore, but unlike the others, the fear overpowered Sara. They made use of their fear by drenching it with adrenaline. Now, Sara was a seemingly endless distance away from Warrick, as he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a full-on run, his eyes bulging in terror. He spread his arms forward as if trying to prevent himself from falling off the edge of a cliff. Sara stopped herself, but not nearly as dramatically. She looked on from feet away, her heart pounding. Sara slowly lowered her gun. What in God's name had she found?! She wondered. Warrick whispered inaudibly, "it's him." He then, with great effort averted his gaze from what he had found, and turned to meet Sara's cautious glare. "It's him!" he shouted. "It's Grissom! I found him."
Sara opened the door and stepped inside.
Sara Sidle walked down the hallway leading up to Grissom's room. She walked there with a newfound confidence; head held high, arms swinging defiantly at her side. She was a forensic investigator after all, and without such a stance, she would've never been able to face the gruesome looks of death that she did every day on the job. But as Sara got closer to Grissom's door, that stare-death-in-the-face stature weakened, and then slumped into fatigue. 3 doors away... 2 doors away... 1 door away... And finally she was there, her hand on the cool metal of the door. And then...
It raced through her memory, an endless, dizzying fog of events. Her emotions screamed and blurred as she felt 20 different things at once. Fear, determination, vengeance. The FBI accompanied the team of fellow CSI's as the invaded what they were certain was the "headquarters" of Paul Millander-were he had been holding Gil Grissom for the last 2 ½ weeks. It was a huge, seemingly empty one-room warehouse, the smell of mold and the abandonment of time reeked from the sogging beams of its foundations. The FBI agents, in groups of 4 ran down to cover the seemingly endless corners of the warehouse with trained precision. Meanwhile, the CSI's scattered, most plunging strait ahead into the unknown-into this layer of a madman. And for the first, and possibly last time in their careers, each and every one of them had their weapons drawn. Sara, gun strait pointed strait ahead, watched as the agents ran, and then did the same after Warrick. "GRISSOM! GRISSOM!" She screamed, on her face a look of frantic fear. It was a look all of them wore, but unlike the others, the fear overpowered Sara. They made use of their fear by drenching it with adrenaline. Now, Sara was a seemingly endless distance away from Warrick, as he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a full-on run, his eyes bulging in terror. He spread his arms forward as if trying to prevent himself from falling off the edge of a cliff. Sara stopped herself, but not nearly as dramatically. She looked on from feet away, her heart pounding. Sara slowly lowered her gun. What in God's name had she found?! She wondered. Warrick whispered inaudibly, "it's him." He then, with great effort averted his gaze from what he had found, and turned to meet Sara's cautious glare. "It's him!" he shouted. "It's Grissom! I found him."
Sara opened the door and stepped inside.
