Here's another chappy, ya'll. Hope ya like!

Death by lethal injection.

That was the sentence the jury had chosen for him. Catherine sat in the execution chamber, the rest of the team on either side of her, her eyes staring through the giant glass window at the table and numerous tubes filled with chemicals that would be taking an innocent man's life in a few minutes.

She turned to glance at her friends then shifted her gaze over to the wall. Several phones hung there, but there was one that she had her eyes glued on. The one that had a direct line to the governor's office. That man was the only one who had the power to stop this now…

The strawberry-blonde CSI was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by a loud, grating voice coming from the back of the room. She turned around to see what was going on and found the one person she didn't want to see at that moment stealing a glance at her, a smirk on her face.

Vicky Thorne.

She was the ADA that had prosecuted Grissom and there was nothing Catherine wanted to do more than go over to that woman and punch her lights out. She had been their greatest frustration throughout the entire ordeal.

Flashback…

All heads turned toward the back of the courtroom as he walked through the doors. Grissom glanced around nervously at the faces staring at him. Most were void of expression while others glared accusingly. But there were also those who could look past the charges and see an innocent man. His team—his friends—were among those few who knew he could never be a criminal. After all, he spent most of his life solving crimes not committing them. He took a deep breath and, with head held high, slid into the seat next to his lawyer.

"All rise," the bailiff ordered as the judge entered the room. "Court is now in session, the honorable Judge Daniel Schaffer presiding."

Everyone watched as the judge, a large man with graying blonde hair, took his seat. His audience followed suit and the bailiff continued.

"Case 319-922. The state of Nevada vs. Dr. Gil Grissom on the charge of murder in the first degree. Will the accused please rise."

Both Grissom and his lawyer, Ron Trott, immediately rose from their seats. Trott was an old lawyer friend from LA who would normally be working cases with colleagues from his law firm, TNT & G. But these were special circumstances. He was more than willing to go out of his way and out of state to defend his friend.

"How do you plead?" the judge asked, glancing at the tall, brown-haired lawyer over his glasses.

Trott cleared his throat and answered confidently, "We plead not guilty, your honor."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the courtroom. Judge Schaffer pounded his gavel, calling for order, and the room instantly silenced. Everyone's attention was now back on the trial.

Grissom sighed heavily. He could not believe this was happening. He was being charged for the murder of a girl he barely knew. Yet all the evidence seemed to be pointing to him as the killer. And as he's said himself many times—the evidence never lies. But in this case, something wasn't right. He would never do anything like that. He wasn't a murderer.

"Ms. Prosecutor, are we ready to proceed?" the judge asked, his gaze shifting toward the prosecutor, Victoria Thorne.

She rose from her seat. "Yes, your honor."

Thorne was an older woman, wearing a designer woman's suit over a white, silk blouse. Her silver-blonde hair was perfectly combed and her makeup expertly applied to a smooth, perfectly tanned face that was remarkably free of blemishes. It was apparent that she was no stranger to self-pampering and plastic surgery.

She glanced over at Grissom and looked him over with a sneering, judgmental eye as she began her opening statement.

"Citizens of Nevada," she began, turning to face her audience. "We're here today to decide the fate of Dr. Gil Grissom. Dr. Grissom is charged with the murder of Jennifer Collins. And I intend to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is capable of murder. As a former crime scene investigator he says he's innocent. But how else could you possibly explain the brutal killing of an innocent young woman? On the charge of first-degree murder, Dr. Gil Grissom must be found guilty. People like him mustbe found guilty and for the benefit of us all, the sentence must be death."

Those words cut through Grissom like a knife and somewhere in the audience Catherine was shaking her head, her anger boiling. It took all her will power to keep herself from marching up there and wringing that woman's neck.

That day, Victoria Thorne had been marked as the CSIs' worst enemy.

End Flashback.

Thorne had beaten them down at every turn and somehow managed to discount every single piece of evidence they had found. In the end, she'd practically weaseled her way into the court's favor.

"You!" Mad, blazing eyes burned into Vicky Thorne.

Vicky turned from the conversation she was having to look the CSI square in the eye. "Yeah, me."

"What is she doing here?" Warrick asked, bitterness dripping from his voice.

He knew who Vicky was. The entire team knew who she was.

The ADA ignored them and took a seat near the front of the room. She leaned back in her seat with an almost haughty air of confidence. And just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, they spotted her walking into the room.

Deanna Collins. Jennifer's sister.

She saw the CSIs, too.

She glared at them, the hatred in her eyes freezing them to their seats. She marched up to them, tears streaming down her face.

"I hope your friend rots in hell for what he did to my sister!" she cried. "And to my family!"

They couldn't take much more of this. It was like the entire world had turned against them. Catherine looked over at her friends. She'd lied to Grissom earlier. They weren't holding up; they were falling apart. Warrick was staring down at the ground, his eyes burning with hot, unshed tears. Sara was crying, her head buried in her hands. And Nick just held on to her to keep her from losing it altogether, his own tears threatening to fall. Greg, the youngest of them, seemed like he was in a daze. He stared straight ahead, lost and confused, not knowing how to feel.

A door clicked behind the large glass window and they all looked up to see a man in a tweed suit and glasses checking the machines and the straps that were strong enough to hold down even the most hardened criminal. After he was sure everything was in proper working order, he crossed out of their line of vision and that's when they saw him.

Two men were hurrying, nearly dragging Grissom into the room. Catherine glanced back and forth from the scene in the window to the phone on the wall desperately wishing, praying that it would ring and stop all this madness. But the offending object remained achingly silent.

Before they pushed him onto the table, Grissom looked over his shoulder one last time to glance at his friends—the only people who had stuck by him through all this mess. A single tear slid silently down his cheek, and then, against his will, they propped him up on the table.

He lay there, silent, as they strapped his wrists and ankles to the table. A needle connected to the many tubes pierced the skin of his forearm causing him to wince at the sudden prick of pain.

Catherine glanced over at Vicky who she thought was probably enjoying all of this. The ADA wasn't smiling, but the expression in her eyes spoke volumes. The woman's deep blue eyes were cold and uncaring.

"Dr. Grissom, any last words?" a man suddenly asked, pulling Catherine's attention back to the window.

The man was holding a microphone to Grissom's mouth, but he declined the offer, turning his head away from the microphone. What more could he possibly have to say? He'd already said it all, but no one seemed to want to listen. All of his words had fallen on deaf ears.

The man put the microphone down and nodded to another man that was standing near the machine. The man nodded back and began fiddling with the machine's controls. Grissom lay there, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. The machine hummed to life and everyone in the adjacent room watched as several chemicals were pumped into the tubes and down into the former CSI's arm.

At that moment, his beloved team finally lost it. Warrick's head was now in hands, his shoulders shaking with every sob. Sara and Nick had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, now both crying. Silent tears were sliding down Greg's cheek, the realization of what was going on finally hitting him, hard.

Catherine's mind went numb and she ran out of the room, no longer able handle the scene in front of her. Weakened by despair and sorrow wrenching her insides, she fell back against the door and sank down, sick and shaking. It was over. It was all over. All that work—for nothing. Her best friend was back inside that room, dying, and she was helpless to do anything to stop it. She felt her heart begin to break. And it made her want to cry.

And she did.

She let go, abandoning herself to her sobbing, her hand over her mouth trying to hide the sound of her anguish.

BRRRRRRIIINGGG!

Catherine lifted her head at the new sound, holding back a sob.

Could it be?

Oooh, what happens next? Reviews hold the answer…