Summary: Gofia, YoBling. Gil and Warrick are both shot at a crime scene by an old nemesis of Sofia's, forcing both her and Catherine to work together in order to catch him.
Disclaimer: CSI and any brand names used in this story do not belong to me and are being used for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: This is an a/u story that takes place in the beginning of season six. There is no Tina, Catherine and Warrick are together and expecting a baby, but they're not married. Sofia and Gil remained in constant contact while she was in Boulder City, they are now exclusively dating each other.
I'd like to thank both Tazzer and Sydne for all their help and suggestions. This story would never have gotten done without them.
Scene change
' thought '
emphasis
LADIES' NIGHT
Prologue: Sofia POV:
Strange how things can change in an instant. One minute you're standing at a crime scene talking, joking, teasing Warrick over his impending fatherhood and making plans for after shift with your reclusive former boss. The next, you are the crime scene. All it takes are several flashes from a muzzle of a gun and before you know it, order changes to chaos.
Bullets whiz by your ears as your body is nearly slammed through the ground and for a few seconds you're staring at the sky. Your arms are pinned to your side either by accident or purpose – you don't know. All you do know is you can't get your gun out to return fire, or free your phone to call for back up. Though you seriously doubt you could because the suffocating coppery smell of blood is filling the air and somehow instinctively you know that some of it's yours. Even before the searing pain can work its way through the adrenaline and register into your brain you know you've been hit.
All you can do is helplessly watch as dark colored truck speeds through the intersection and into the night as you force yourself to focus on remembering the shooter's license plate.
You also know instinctively without even looking down to the weight on your chest that Gil is laying on top of you . . . and he's not moving. You can't help but notice the perverted irony of your positions. How many lazy days have the two of you spent curled together with his head resting on your chest. The weight and feel of his body are permanently etched into your mind. Right now, all you can do is wait for a good Samaritan to call 911 as panic slowly creeps over you and darkness overtakes your senses.
