Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of its characters. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and Carol Mendelsohn.
Rating: T for now, might be M later.
Pairings: Can't say yet.
Spoilers: Up to season 3. Story is set roughly two weeks after the season 3 finale.
1.
Man, it had been a long shift. Greg rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn as he crossed the dark, nearly deserted parking lot toward his car. Across the blacktop, he could see Catherine doing the same, walking lethargically—probably every bit as tired as he was. They'd been working for so long, he could hardly remember what shift he was doing—they'd begun graveyard the night before, but it had stretched into day, swing, and graveyard again. And here they were, 2 o'clock in the morning, 28 hours after they'd first come in, no closer to solving the case than before.
The indefatigable Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle were staying on, collecting evidence from who knew what. Greg hardly cared anymore. He was sick of being in the lab for 28 hours straight—as far as he was concerned, Archie could take it from here. He'd just come into his own shift 10 hours ago. Grissom had sent everyone else from graveyard home, figured they deserved it. Nick and Warrick were still in the building though—but Greg and Catherine had fled. He imagined Catherine must be desperate to see her daughter after over a day hours—and he was desperate for his cd's and his bed.
Groggily he beeped off his car alarm and glanced over to Catherine's side to wave goodbye… but she was nowhere to be seen. Stumped, he stopped and looked around, filled with the most unexpected foreboding. Get a grip, Sanders. It's not like she's been abducted by aliens or anything. She's probably just setting her heel or something.
Still… something was off. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found himself unable to just walk on and leave. Especially when the seconds passed and no blonde coworker appeared. Maybe I'm so tired I'm just seeing things, Greg reasoned wearily.
With a sigh, he set off toward the area of the parking lot she should have been in, the rhythmical pulsating of his heart growing steadily louder with every step. Her car was still in place, dark and silent—untouched. "Catherine?"
No answer.
For all you know she's hiding behind one the cars, just waiting to jump out at you and laugh in your face, Greg's inner paranoia kicked in. But it wasn't like Catherine to play pranks on her coworkers—that would be Nick or Warrick. Maybe even Hodges. And not even they would be in a prankish mood after pulling a triple.
"Catherine?"
The hollow feeling of dread inside him grew stronger and stronger each time he called her name receiving no answer. And it was way too quiet for Vegas anyway—the blaring inferno of light and sound. It made his skin crawl.
The metallic glint of car keys strewn on the pavement caught his eye—and he immediately found himself tripping over a black bulk, half its contents spilling out—Catherine's driving license among them.
Shit. No way she'd leave her stuff lying here. Something's wrong. Think, Sanders—think fast.
Run after Catherine and he risked getting clobbered. Lab rats didn't carry weapons and he was hardly built to engage in a physical fight. Run back to the lab for backup and if anything happened to her in the meantime…
It only took him an instant to decide. Greg Sanders wasn't one to just stand around and watch if one of his coworkers was in trouble. Frantically hoping his presence alone would scare off the perp whoever it was, he took a deep breath and broke into a run.
All he got was one glimpse—one glimpse—of Catherine pinned to the ground before a huge fist smashed into his face, sending him to the asphalt in a cloud of pain. His eyes hadn't even begun to clear before something grabbed him by the collar, throwing him across the car with what seemed almost superhuman strength. The back of his head slammed into the hood and he felt himself passing out—consciousness shutting itself down little by little—blocking out what sounded like a woman's distressed screams in the background.
Next thing he knew, he was being pulled upright by a pair of strong arms and Nick's worried eyes pierced into his own. "Greg, man! You okay? What happened?"
The world was spinning. Greg just barely managed to make out Warrick standing next to Nick, his mouth hanging open in concern.
"Catherine…" he murmured, his tongue thick and sluggish as a drunk's.
"What about Catherine?" Nick began, when Warrick's startled yelp alerted them to her presence.
"Holy shit."