CSI: Crime Scene Investigators
Red Rover
By A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

Words rung in Catherine's ears like a full marching band had surrounded her: inevitable, unlikely, high risk, multiple fractures, hematoma, internal bleeding…

She finally had to tune out the paramedics and focus on Nick's hand held between both of hers.

It was cold.

Not death cold.

Not the hand of a corpse.

There was still blood pumping through it, but so little that his body was turning inward to keep his core warm and sacrificing his limbs to do it. Blankets didn't seem to do much. His tan skin was so pallid he looked like he should be dead.

At least the skin that wasn't covered by dried blood was. And the blood was everywhere, congealed and dried, the most of it in his hair. She knew what it meant – his meant-to-be-killer or killers had beaten him in the head the most, trying to cave in his skull and kill him. She knew that was their intent based on the reports other law enforcement officers had sent.

What frightened her more was how willing those officers had been to send her their reports, and how fast they had arrived. They knew something about what she was now suffering – they'd lost a good man or woman to whoever had done this to Nick. They probably had held a cold hand like this and had stared at the blood covering their partner or detective or CSI. They probably wished that person would breathe – however labored – like Nick was now. Those shallow, labored breaths breathed hope into her.

Nick was fighting to stay alive. The killer or killers had underestimated him, hadn't they? They didn't know how much Nick loved his life, and how hard he would struggle to keep it. They probably didn't know everything he'd lived through just to resist death now.

Catherine leaned over when the paramedic got up to prepare another bag of blood to replace the one that was nearly drained. She laid her hand over the gauze that masked his face. She felt warm moisture on her skin as the blood began to soak through from the light pressure.

"Don't give up, Nicky," Catherine told him.

She moved back to let the paramedic continue working, squeezing his hand tighter. What was taking the paramedic driving so long to get to the hospital?

#

At the hospital the nurses separated Catherine from Nick, pushing her back at the emergency room doors, telling her to wait in the waiting room; they had to get him into surgery now, she wasn't family, and without saying it, she was going to have to wait and worry alone.

Catherine stared at the closed doors. She found herself hoping that by some miracle they would open, Nick would walk out with a smile and some bad joke, good as new, and they would laugh about all this before walking out to catch whoever had done this to him.

She only moved when Nurse Paula, a nurse that had spent as many years in the E.R. of Sunrise Hospital as Catherine had spent as a CSI, wrapped a caring arm around Catherine and gently guided her to an uncomfortable plastic chair. She sat down next to Catherine and held her hand, occasionally patting the CSI's leg to reassure her.

Catherine could only stare at their hands – part of her wanted to pull away, part of her wanted to break down in tears, and the portion in control right now was too dazed to do either. Nick was practically a son to her. Warrick had been – more. Grissom was her closest friend. She knew she'd lose herself if she lost Nick now.

She felt it.

It was like seeing death lurking just outside your front door, waiting for you to walk out so it could take you. It was a patient thing, this sense of losing sanity. It would wait. It would give her time. If Nick died, it would put on a face she knew, and drag her down with it. It would make her forget her life, her career, her own child. Even now it was whispering to her from the fringes, telling her Nick wasn't going to make it, trying to persuade her to give up this tired fight. It tried to promise her how peaceful her life would be if she would just let go.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

Not until a human shaped like a doctor came and told her Nick was gone.

Catherine numbly accepted a cup of coffee Paula brought her without really seeing it. She heard sounds around her without noticing them. Paula left, probably saying something about her departure, but Catherine didn't hear it.

Catherine didn't notice eight hours had passed or see Gillian Stokes sit down next to her. The woman touched Catherine's arm and she lifted her eyes, staring into a mother's scared and worried face. Was that how she looked too?

"How bad is he?" Gillian asked.

Catherine burst into tears, dropping her forgotten coffee. It made Gillian burst into tears also, and they held each other, unable to do anything else. The tears subsided and emotionally drained the two sat in silence for a long time, staring at the spilt coffee that was slowly drying.

Catherine felt that lurking insanity retreat until it vanished – the tears had cleansed her of it. She longed for word that Nick would make it, but knew if the worst came, she'd survive. She always did. Why should now be any different?

"He wasn't responding when I go there," Catherine finally said. "He didn't come to all the way here. I don't… I can't tell you how long I've even been here."

"It's eight in the morning," Gillian told her.

Catherine slowly nodded. "It's been ten hours."

Gillian eased against the back of her chair. "Do you know who did this yet?"

Catherine hesitated. She didn't want to answer that question. She'd left Greg behind to sort out the details and try to find that out. She didn't want to tell Nick's mother that of the now thirty-eight victims, the only survivor aside from Nick was never going to wake up. And the grim prospect was that if Nick lived, neither would he. His attacker or attackers made sure of that by being very choice about where they beat him.

Catherine decided on the non-committal answer. "I can't discuss the case yet."

Gillian didn't question that. She was a lawyer, she knew the line.

But Catherine's perfect answer shattered when Greg walked into the room.

"I have something," Greg told her. "Mateo's given us a description."

She accidently blurted in front of Gillian, "His accomplices?"

Greg hesitated. He didn't look at Gillian; he didn't look away from Catherine.

"Well?" Catherine asked.

"We haven't questioned him, Catherine. But he insisted on telling us their descriptions. He said Nick told him the descriptions before he lost consciousness."

"My son was conscious?" Gillian asked, moving to the edge of her seat. "He spoke to someone?"

Catherine got up. "Excuse us, Gillian." She grabbed Greg's elbow and guided him outside.

She was almost sickened by how peaceful it was outside. The sun shone bright, the day was gorgeous, the birds chirped loudly in nearby trees, the people were hurrying to work. The world kept turning. One good man clinging to life and near the edge of death meant nothing to the world, and that gnawed on her already worn nerves. The world should be in mourning now, woman should be wailing, men should be wailing. The masses should stop for Nicolas Parker Stokes, and wait in sorrowful anticipation for word of what was to become of him.

"Mateo says Nick was conscious?" Catherine demanded.

Greg nodded.

"He was covered in blood when we go there."

Greg nodded. "He didn't do this to Nick."

"Question him."

"You can't seriously think he did this to Nick! This is Mateo we're talking about."

"Question him. See where the evidence leads you."

Haughty Greg snapped, "Sounds to me like you've already decided it'll say he's guilty."

"Nick had Domingo arrested, and Mateo would have had to roll on Nick to stay in his gang. It makes perfect sense."

"No, Catherine, it makes no sense. You don't know those two. That kid looks up to Nick, and Nick trusted him with his life. Don't damn Mateo for this. I believe he was trying to help Nick. That's what he kept telling me."

"What does the evidence say?"

"Screw the damned evidence! Mateo wouldn't do this to Nick. He wouldn't even stand by and let someone else do it."

She literally took a step back, fighting down the rage that Greg's arguing forced to swell up in her. She wanted to beat someone, anyone, right now. She wanted to scream and to kick the living shit out of something warm and full of life. The anger felt like a fire trapped in a room somewhere inside her chest, just waiting for some unsuspecting fool to grab the door handle and open the door. Then it would roar out, engulfing them, sucking air from their lungs, and destroy them.

"Collect the evidence. Look for clues. Call me when you can give me a straight answer."

"I am giving you a—"

"Greg!" She bit hard on his once-syllable name. She couldn't argue with him anymore. She couldn't even talk to him without her eyes burning, making the world a brighter white. She was too close to losing it right now.

Greg stopped talking, glaring at her.

"I cannot argue with you right now. If you keep this up, I'm likely to punch you just because you're here. Understand me?"

Greg nodded.

"Do your job and get out of my face. Now. Go!"

Greg jogged away, leaving her alone. Catherine started pacing, trying to ease her nerves. She pulled back when someone laid their hand on her shoulder, finding Gillian there.

"He's in ICU. Will you… Can you come up with me?"

Catherine nodded, and the two headed back inside to see Nick.

#

What was waiting for them was the shape of a human entombed in casts and bandages. There wasn't any way of telling if it was Nick, but the nurses seemed certain. Gillian never let go of Catherine's arm. She was trembling, frightened by the sight of her youngest son, her baby. The mother put her free hand to her mouth. It was trembling.

"I thought this job was safe," she whispered. "I thought being a CSI would be safe. I thought my baby boy would never get hurt in this job and that's why I said we should let him go. Let him leave Texas and us and become who he was destined to be. It was because of what he was like when he was younger. He was adventurous, Catherine, but he was always safe. He didn't take the risky chances like other kids, he always knew there were limits." Gillian started crying. "Why does this job keep hurting him?"

Catherine pulled close to her, looking down. She didn't know the answer.

"He is a good man, isn't he?" Gillian asked.

"Yes."

"He does his job? He fights for the good?"

"Always."

"Why would someone do this to him? Why would someone want to kill my baby boy?"

Catherine looked up. Gillian's eyes stared at her, begging for some sensible answer. How many times had Catherine seen that look in people's eyes? But this time, she was the one that wanted answers when none could be found.

"Whoever did this… He's not the first victim."

"The person that did this wasn't arrested? Didn't Greg say he was arrested?"

Catherine shook her head. Although part of her disagreed. She believed Mateo was somehow behind this, but it was better that Gillian didn't know that. Not yet, not now.

"I don't think he was alone when he did this, if he did this. I think someone else helped. And Nick isn't the first."

"A serial killer?"

"We think so."

"How many before my son?"

Catherine didn't want to answer it. Gillian gave her arm a tough yank. She wouldn't take silence for an answer.

"He's thirty-eight."

"And the others… Were they CSI?"

"He's the fifth. The others were police officers or detectives, one coroner, all of them just doing their job, following the evidence. Evidence was the killer or killer's bait." Catherine knew she shouldn't be talking about this to Gillian, but it felt good to tell someone.

"Why was he alone? He wouldn't have followed evidence alone. Not after the last time. He knew better."

Catherine knew then that Gillian didn't really know her son. Ever since he'd been buried alive Nick was much more aggressive about pursuing suspects and evidence, to the point he seemed to be wishing for death. But he wasn't, that was just a change in him. Grissom told her Nick was balancing the shock of facing his mortality with the determination to make sure no one ever suffered like he did. She didn't really understand that, she had come to accept it and label it the act of a good cop – even if Nick wasn't a cop. But that wasn't the case this time. Nick hadn't taken any risks or ran headlong into this. She'd played the dispatch tape enough times to know this as fact – he'd gone into the tunnels with an armed officer at his side. He had been adventurous but cautious, just like Gillian described him as a child.

"He was with another officer, Gillian."

"Where's the officer? Have you asked him about what happened?"

"They murdered him, and then tried to murder Nick."

Gillian burst into tears. Catherine put her arm around her, holding her. It was only seconds before she began crying with her. One biological and one adoptive mother crying over a son that lay broken and unconscious before them.