Yinging and Yanging (title in the works)
Disclaimers...I do not own the CSI crew I am borrowing, and anything you recognize...
Warning: if you've read my stories you know this already, 1. very angsty... 2. it may be confusing so please feel free to ask questions, i'll answer the best I can without giving away my future intentions, and 3. spelling and grammatical errors will most likely be present, there was no beta reason Okay?
Relationships: Gil/Sara, others may come into affect later so I'll just edit it if that occurs
Time Setting: Right before Gil goes off on his Sabbatical, infact there was no sabbatical stuff okay? Right after that episode where he has like a migraine the whole time.
Enjoy the ride, and please review
He knelt down slowly to the body. His blue eyes carefully picking up each intricate little detail. The body was male; buzz cut brown hair -filled with mud and blood-, glazed over hazel eyes, tanned skin -causasion-, a black button down shirt with the sleeves turned up to his elbows -also ripped open at the chest, where the coroners' assistant was examining the bullet hole in the center of it-, dress khakis -wrinkled and stained with many different substances-, lastly the shoes were missing -showing off highly manicured toes attached to a pair of muddy feet-.
"COD seems to be a point blank shot from above, looks like a 9mm." David spoke calmly, using the tweezers to prod the bullet hole. The night supervisor seemed to glance up at that time, inspecting the surrounding area -appearing not to acknowledge Davids' statement-.
"How long as he been here?" Gil asked now scanning the area around the body. A dried blood pool had accumulated underneath the victim and stretched out from underneath the back, roughly 6 inches in radius. The other man extracted his thermometer then, and without haste stuck the body with it -pentrating through the skin and deep into liver-.
"Um. Not more then 2 or 3 hours. Fresh." David answered after a moment to calculate his measurements.
"Gil!" The detective approached his equal quickly.
"Yes, Jim?" Grissom asked, glancing up at the cop to acknowledge that he was there, then returned to observing the area, taking in every little detail that his memory could hold.
"Just heard over the radio that there is another 419 on the other side of the strip." Brass stated.
"Okay..." The supervisor sighed, reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing his cellphone. He'd send Greg and Sara to that one. Catherine, Nick, and Warrick were performing another investigation just outside of Las Vegas.
As he pressed dial to phone Sara, a gun shot rang out. He glanced up alarmed, all else was quieted then. Even David knew not to say anything. All that could be heard was the ringing, and Sara picking up.
"Hey." Sara said over the phone with a familiarity that she had received with the initimate relationship she had with her supervisor.
Brass had already pulled out his gun and was looking around.
"Grissom?" Saras' voice asked over the phone. Gil was too intranced of what was going on to remember what he was doing. Another shot rang out.
This time he felt it. The bullet dug deep into his chest cavity, destroying whatever was in its' path; it tore through two front portions of ribs, through a lung, and lodged its' way into the flesh not even a millimeter away from his spinal cord. Gil was sent flying from his crouching position, onto his back -cell phone ripping from his hand and scattering away-. He felt his head it the pavement.
His eyes opened widely in a panic; sweat pouring down his face and body, his breath was gone, shivers racked his body. He was disoriented, as he grabbed the first thing he could to cover himself with to relieve this freezing state he was in. He groped the sheets, searching frantically for the blankets -finally finding them-. He pulled them close, and covered his body, but the cold would not relent.
"Grissom?" He barely heard his name, didn't even react to it. His focus lay now on breathing, getting warm, and trying to sleep.
"Oh My God!" He knew this voice, but couldn't place a face or a name to it; he just held the blankets covering him in death grip. Within the second Griss felt a hand on his sweat covered forehead and it jerk away.
"Your on Fire!" The voice cried.
"Noo...I'm ...frreee-eeezing..." Gil shivered and stuttered, his teeth clattering like he had just spent the last three hours in a blizzard.
"You've got a fever." A feminine face appeared. Sara. That was the voice. She was at his side, poking a plastic object into his revealing ear.
"Hey..." He cried in a futile attempt to stop her. His eyes were fluttering from open to close. He welcomed the unconcious realm with open arms.
"104!" Sara yelped, Gil was fading fast now. "Shit, Gil, Stay awake, Please we need to cool you down." She discarded the thermometer and grabbed his hands. He resisted weakly, whimpering in the process.
"Come on, You gotta help me get you to the bathroom." She spoke worridly, knowing if his temperature got any higher his brain would fry, if not already. This high was lethal.
"Whaaaa..." He grumbled in protest, but letting her drag him to his feet. She wrapped her arms around his sweat soaked chest and pulled his arm over her shoulderblades behind her neck.
It took the couple 5 minutes to get to the bathroom, where Sara quickly stripped Grissom down to nothing but his boxers and forced him into the tub. He was shaking and complaining about just wanting to sleep the whole way. Sara jerked on the cold water in the tub, letting it run on Gils' feet. He yelped loudly in protest.
"I'm fre-ee-ezing Sssa---rraaa!" He yelled at her, but was too weak to pull himself up even. He just continued to yelp in agony. Sara started crying as she pulled herself out of the bathroom. In a mad dash she grabbed the phone and wrapped herself around the corner into the kitchen. She staggered to the freezer and grabbed all the ice she could hold. On the way back, arms full of ice holders, and phone within her shoulder and face. She dropped the ice on the toilet led, and pulled Gil back into the tub. He had managed to pull himself half way out of the tub.
She punched 911 quickly with one hand, pushing the phone back into the canal between the shoulder and ear. Gil cried in disoriented protest, but the slurring was getting worse, and she knew he would lose conciousness any minute now. His body was still on fire. As she fired off the address to the operator and demanded an ambulence, she poured all the ice there into the tub -hoping to god that Gils' temperature would lower to a less lethal level.
TBC...