Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: So this is the story that's been bouncing around for a few weeks, but I wouldn't let myself start until I finished at least one. As I finished 'Consequences, Baby,' here it is!

Hope you enjoy! Reviews, yes? :)

Happy New Year!


July 16th, 1998

"Debbie!" I called, watching my wife and little boy move away from me, towards security and their flight to San Francisco. She turned, not even attempting to hide the irritation on her face at my delaying her. I sighed. "…Call, so I know you guys landed safely?"

She rolls her eyes. "I know, Gil. …Don't be late, picking us up next week." I nod, and she turns to our son, who clutches her hand uncertainly. He's eighteen months, and looking over his shoulder, eyes wary under short brown ringlets. I don't like the idea of her taking him for a week—she isn't the most maternal of women—but she had planned this impromptu shopping trip with girlfriends when she knew I was in the middle of a serial case… there was no way I would be home enough to care for him.

"Come on, Wesley. You already said 'bye' to Daddy. Let's go." She tugged his hand impatiently, forcing him to turn away from me, and dragged him through security. I sighed again, waving and smiling big when he glanced over his shoulder again. It seemed to help, a little, and I waited until they were through security and out of sight before leaving, because although Debbie hadn't turned to look at me all through the process, Wes had turned and looked to me several times.

When they were gone I sighed, heading straight back to the Crime Lab, although I had just left it in order to drive them to the airport. Being the Lab Director hadn't necessarily been my ambition when I'd started… but I had met Debbie after getting injured on a case—a minor concussion, and she had been my nurse.

We'd dated for five years—and I'd proposed twice—when she finally told me what the problem was. She loved me, but she didn't want to marry a man of… 'limited means.' Which basically meant that remaining a CSI, or even a shift supervisor, as I had just been promoted, wasn't an option… not if I wanted to spend my life with her. And I did. I loved her.

But marriage is more difficult than my parents made it look. I hadn't really expected the relationship to change when we got married… or when we had a baby… or when I finally got the promotions she had wanted. And now… now it was… a peculiar arrangement. But I didn't want to dwell on that now—Wesley needed both parents, Debbie wanted to live the life that I had thus far provided her, and the political career I'd begun could only be hurt by a messy divorce and an airing of secrets.

In truth, I didn't care about the position… and I didn't want to play politics… but I had done a lot of good, as the Lab Director. I'd made a number of positive changes, and for the first time in decades, the crime rate was slowly down. It was still going up every year, but not so dramatically. …It felt like we were finally making a difference.

I didn't want to give it up. Next to my son, the lab was the most important thing in my life. And if I had to endure the late night calls from doctors she had worked with who were "just friends," well… that wasn't so high a price to pay for justice for the masses and a stable home for my child. It's not like we'd been intimate in… hell, the past year.

Not that I didn't desire her—I did, fervently. Her rich, dark chocolate locks… the delicate lift of her eyebrows, the line of her jaw, the arc of her cheekbones. She was tall and slender, but still curvy, and she had legs to die for. …But that alone was not enough. …Because the truth was, I don't think either of us was remotely in love anymore.

She wasn't who she used to be, and really, I probably wasn't anymore either.


July 23rd, 1998

I shifted my carry-on bag on my shoulder, eyes scanning the labels above each row—18 ABC, 19 ABC— I was looking for 25 A… a window seat. I moved forward several more rows, and found the two passengers who'd be sharing my row already seated. The woman beside the window didn't glance up from her magazine, but the small boy with bright blue eyes gave me a hesitant smile. Which was strange, because he looked like he couldn't be two yet. But then, maybe he was just naturally shy… I returned it, placing my bag in the overhead compartment and taking the aisle seat, even though it was technically mine. No need to cause problems unnecessarily, right?

I buckled my seat belt and then glanced at the little boy again, who seemed to be watching me with interest. His mother let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop staring, Wes."

He immediately looked at his mother, his bottom lip quivering. I wanted to intercede—tell her that he hadn't been bothering me… or that perhaps she ought to be kinder to her child. I had been a victim of enough abuse in my life to have no tolerance for it now. It was at that point that a woman across the aisle leaned over, clearly not having heard any of the exchange up to this point.

"What a beautiful little boy. Are you his aunt or his mother?"

I was alarmed at the question, and glanced uncertainly at the woman while shaking my head. "Oh, no, I'm… I'm not his… anything."

She turned to look at me and I froze, momentarily. It wasn't quite like looking in a mirror, but it was still alarming. …Like a fun house mirror, or pictures of a parent when they were a child… you can see yourself, but it's just a little off.

But my apparent reflection had turned back to her magazine, disinterested once again. I glanced at the boy, who did not seem surprised or upset by his mother's behavior. Like it was normal to be so dismissive and… well, downright neglectful. I wondered whether, during the course of the flight, I shouldn't discover the woman's name and report her to some form of authority… I hadn't actually seen any abuse, had I?

As we began taxiing to our runway and the flight attendants went through the long list of safety procedures which, in all likelihood would do little to help in a real crash, I looked around for my exits, and counted rows. I had read once that, in a plane crash, you're often disoriented and, in the dark, may not be able to easily locate an exit. But if you can count rows and move seat to seat, you can find your way out. The exit over the wing was five rows in front of me. I carefully committed the number to memory.

The flight was uneventful and the woman in my window seat proved herself to be every bit as terrible as I had first assumed. She read her magazine until we were asked for a drink order—she ordered wine, but got her son nothing. She passed a credit card over and turned back to the magazine. Certain she wasn't listening—and eyeing the sleep mask in her lab—I ordered an apple juice and a water. I was handed them promptly and I tucked the juice box out of sight, just in case.

The attendant who had taken her card to run it returned a moment later, and she glanced up expectantly. "Here's your card back, Mrs. Grissom." She passed it, and the wine, over the top of the child's head, and they promptly moved on to the next row.

For a moment, I was dazed. …Was she the famous Dr. Grissom's wife? I was taking this trip to Vegas to interview for a CSI position at the crime lab. Not only had he been a renowned forensic entomologist for years, but he had single-handedly raised the LVCL to the second best lab in the country… falling sort only of the FBI, which had considerably more funding.

I had had numerous professors at Berkeley who believed he was the greatest forensic mind in the country—all of whom told me I was crazy to apply right out of grad school, and all of whom had been amazed when I'd been granted an interview. Granted, there were certain to be tons of interviewees, but they didn't give an interview to everyone… I was a serious consideration.

I glanced again at the woman in disdain, who had drained half her glass. Maybe the man himself was not as great as everyone thought… he certainly had terrible taste in women. Cute kid though.

Within ten minutes she had drained her glass, and within another fifteen she was snoring softly, sleep mask over her eyes, her little boy sitting still, absent anything to entertain him. …It was normal for such a small child to sit so still, unoccupied, for a long period of time.

I waited another five minutes, just to be safe, and then put the straw in the apple juice box and passed it to the little boy, who grinned at me in honest delight and surprise and sipped contentedly. Such a small gesture, and yet he seemed so utterly pleased by it. When he finished, I removed the evidence and passed him an activity book I'd bought for the Sudoku puzzles and a crayon from the bottom of my purse—for some reason, I felt like word searches needed to be done in crayon. Call it nostalgia.

He happily entertained himself coloring picture-less pages for a half hour, and I took the book back when his head started sagging and his eyelids drooping. I asked the attendant for a blanket for him… and also that she say she just saw that he was asleep and put it over him. I didn't want his mother upset.

She smiled softly, although there was some confusion in her eyes, but she passed me the blanket and I wrapped it snugly around the boy, despite the fact that it wasn't very soft. It actually… felt rather strange. Looking away from the infant who was now sucking his thumb and putting himself to sleep beside his nearly comatose guardian, I snatched the safety guide from the pocket in front of me and scanned it.

Fire-retardant blankets. I raised an eyebrow. Well… that was new. I wasn't sure whether the extra effort was comforting or… whether I was disturbed that the airline viewed such a thing as necessary.

Shrugging, I pulled out my book and started to read where I'd left off in the airport, because as we got closer and closer to Vegas, I was getting more and more nervous for my interview… because this was an amazing opportunity, and because, if this woman was his wife, I was certainly going to be intimidated by the man himself. Didn't people generally marry those who were similar to themselves?

I put my book away when the lights of Vegas became visible, waiting for the captain to announce out arrival and tell the flight attendants to prepare for landing. …His warning never came. Instead, there was a great shuddering of the entire plane… and a low of altitude, and the captain began speaking and then cut out… and then we were free-falling, and the only thing I could think of was that this little boy beside me was not in any kind of child seat. I pulled him roughly into my lap, and twisted my body as much as I could to keep him between me and the seat that had been at my back a moment before.

I don't remember the landing—I don't remember anything but unbelievable pain, and a fuzzy kind of awareness that flickered in and out. I sat up hazily, and realized after a moment that there was crying beside me… tucked against my chest and the seat that was more at my side than anything. Another glance at the window seat occupant told me all I needed to know—she was obviously dead—and so I tore my seat belt away, ignoring the pain that was someone everywhere and nowhere but so overwhelming that thought was a struggle, and movement only possible because I was running on pure adrenaline.

I picked the boy up, wrapping the blanket over his face and pressing him to my chest, and diligently counted seats forward.

One… The air was thick with smoke and breath was a struggle. I coughed, and staggered, and my eyes burned.

Two… It was hot. Much, much too hot… there was definitely fire, somewhere. …Why wasn't anyone else moving?

Three… I wasn't sure if I heard sirens in the distance or if the ringing was in my head, but I wished it would stop. It was making everything more difficult.

Four… I hadn't even checked if the boy was alive. Maybe I was carrying a lifeless corpse which I had so lovingly given apple juice and crayons just over an hour ago…

Five… But no, he'd been crying… he had to be alive… the door wasn't open, and I immediately felt desperate and helpless. I wanted to fall to the floor in exhaustion and let my pain consume me, but the whimper at my breast had me grasping for the handle, even though it burned, and forcing it open…

The smoke was thicker outside, and I wondered if it was even safe to step out onto the wing… but behind me was only death, and somewhere, out here, was the breath of fresh air that I needed.

Tiny hands clutched my shirt, and I stumbled out and fell to my knees in desperation, thinking that I must keep going… keep moving… forward… not… stop.

And then it was dark, and cool, and the little hands held tight.