Title: For Warrick

Author: lildreamer

Rating: K+

Spoilers: "For Gedda"

Pairings: none (but I am a Grillows—and sometimes Snickers—shipper, so don't be surprised if one or both sneaks in here. Nothing major, though)

Summary: Tag for season finale. Will he live or die? And what happens after?

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters. So don't sue me!

A/N: This is what I think should happen, not what I think could happen. That's a whole other idea!

Enjoy!

Perhaps it was divine intervention.

Fate.

Or maybe just pure coincidence.

Whatever the case, they had all still been in the vicinity when the first shot echoed through the night. In the few seconds it took to unlock and climb into his car, Greg had somehow misplaced his keys. He ended up hunting through his entire car for them. It was as if they'd mysteriously vanished. Grissom had exited the restaurant right behind him and had been very close to driving away when something stopped him. Catherine had just come out of the building and was digging through her purse for her keys when the strap broke. The purse fell from her shoulder and spilled its contents all over the blacktop. Grissom immediately jumped out of his car to help the flustered woman collect her things before they rolled or flew away.

Nick had stayed behind at the restaurant after everyone else had gone. All through dinner, his eyes had been drawn toward one of the waitresses. A pretty redhead. But when he'd gone looking for her, he couldn't seem to find her.

His head shot up when he heard it, as well as the heads of all the other patrons, who were mostly made up of other law enforcement officers. He was the first to run out of the restaurant, his gun drawn. He found three of his teammates outside, glancing wildly around the lot, their own guns drawn. They all stared at each other for a moment, sharing a fearful look, before running toward where they thought the shot had originated. Feet pounded around them as several officers joined in their search. They all came to a halt when they saw a dark figure hovering around Warrick's car. In the darkness, they couldn't get a clear view of the shooter's face. Only his body and the gun in his hand.

For several long seconds the CSIs stood rooted to the ground. The moment had taken them off guard. They should have known that Warrick's life was still in danger with Gedda's killer still out there.

"Warrick!"

They had their eyes glued to the man's gun as he lifted it for another shot. In one heart-stopping moment, the muzzle stabbed fire, and the driver's head snapped back as if it were on a spring. Blood sprayed the side window, which shattered from the impact of the deflected bullet.

Like a puppet on a string, Warrick went limp and collapsed. His head hit the broken window as he slumped into his seat. They'd all seen more than a few dead bodies and knew they were looking at another.

"NO!" Nick moved with only a moment's thought and dashed toward the killer as he wiped the gun and threw it onto the passenger's seat.

The man glanced up at them, but his face was still in shadows, giving him the appearance of having no eyes. He passed from the ring of light cast by several officers' flashlights, rounded the back of the car, and slipped into the shadows. As if the CSIs, the cops were nothing more than an irritant, an interference.

And then he was gone.

Nick tore toward the car. Without thinking, he grabbed the driver's door and yanked it wide open. Warrick's body slumped into a pool of blood on the asphalt.

"Warrick!" Catherine sprinted forward, gun gripped in both hands. "Warrick?"

Greg stared silently with his cell phone pressed to his ear. He was on an emergency hotline; his words caught in his throat.

"Call an ambulance!" Nick dropped to his knees and tugged Warrick's limp body.

The body rolled. He quickly pressed his hands against the wounds in his friend's neck, trying to stop the bleeding. He felt a faint pulse beneath his fingers.

Grissom stared. "Oh my god…"

Brass appeared behind the group and froze to the spot when he saw the body. "What happened?"

"He was shot!" Nick screamed. "He was shot, that's what happened. Don't just stand there, the suspect's getting away!"

He checked the wound on the side of Warrick's head. The second bullet had left a superficial gash, causing instantaneous unconsciousness, but it hadn't penetrated the skull. The shot had most likely caused a concussion, but nothing more.

Brass was already moving, yelling orders at men behind them. "Suspect is in the perimeter. Form teams. And spread out. Now! Report every fifteen minutes. Get me some light. Move!"

For a brief moment, Nick stared at the body by his knees. Red blood matted the short curls of hair on the right side of Warrick's head where one of the bullets had struck him. Other than that, he looked like a man at peace.

They had become instant friends the moment Nick had set foot at the Las Vegas Crime Lab all those years ago. And their relationship only grew from there. They became an inseparable pair. Brothers. They always had each other's back. No matter what. A fact that had been proven quite recently. Nick's loyalty to his best friend had been put to the test when Warrick had been accused of a crime he did not commit. Though he and the rest of the team had not been allowed to work his case, they had found other ways to help him and proved that he'd been framed. The poor guy had been through so much already during the past few days. And now he was lying there dying in his best friend's arms.

Everything slowed in Nick's mind, minute details popping to life, when he suddenly realized that Warrick had stopped breathing. "No! Rick, don't do this, man. Don't you die on me. Wake up!"

The resolve filled his veins. He called a clearly shaken Greg over and had him take his place applying pressure to Warrick's wounds. Then working quickly, with practiced deliberation, he tilted Warrick's head back, pinched his nostrils between his thumb and forefinger, lowered his mouth to his, and flooded his lungs with his breath. Again.

Then he leaned over him, pressed both palms over his friend's sternum and pumped at a rate that approximated one hundred beats per minute.

One, two, three, four…thirty times before Nick would give more of his breath.

C'mon, man! Nick set his jaw. Live!

No response.

His own heart beat in his eardrums. Warrick's remained stone. They needed a defibrillator, and they needed it now.

Brass reappeared, speaking into his radio. "You're saying he just disappeared? Find him!" He pulled up when he saw Nick working feverishly over Warrick's dead body. "Anything?"

Nick blew into Warrick's mouth again. Then pumped his chest. "We have to get him to a hospital." He continued the CPR, begging with each breath, each pump of his palms against his sternum, that Warrick would regain consciousness.

Becoming desperate, he slammed his fist on his chest.

"Wake up!"

The siren's wail reached him and he looked up as the screech of tires announced the ambulance's arrival. A paramedic dressed in a white shirt jumped out of the back and shoved Nick aside. Eyes on Warrick's lifeless form.

He spoke calmly. "How long has the victim been in arrest?"

Grissom glanced at his watch. "Too long…"

Whaddaya think? More?