To take arms against a sea of troubles

Chapter 2

Finally managing to open one of her eyes, Sara tried to survey the room she was in using as much as the peripheral vision she had. She had no idea where she was, how she got there, or how long she had been there. She thought she had been trying to move for an hour, but had no idea why she couldn't. Now that she had control of her vision, she noted the lack of restraints.

The problem was clearly due to an injury or a drug. The fact that she appeared to be improving gave her a small glimmer of hope.

Noting the fading sunlight through the dingy blinds covering the window across the room she estimated the time to be 7:00 or 8:00 in the evening. That didn't help her much because she couldn't remember what day it was, or what she had been doing before she got herself into whatever mess she was in.

A tingling sensation in her fingers caught her attention. 'Just wait it out Sidle, and call Grissom. He's looking for you,' Sara told herself.

--//--

Greg rubbed his face. There wasn't anything else they could do but wait for the evidence to be analyzed. Until they had all the results they were looking at pieces to the puzzle without context.

Everyone had been looking at the pieces for five hours. Meetings with the FBI agents had beat down most of the CSI's hope and it was clear Sara was in a lot of trouble.

Looking over at his supervisor, Greg watched him flip open both of his phones. The younger CSI knew the battery levels were fine, the signal was strong, but Sara wasn't calling. Once the cell phones were closed Greg waited for the older man to look toward the exit.

On cue Gil Grissom leaned back in his chair, and looked toward the glass doors. This time however, was different than the last 100 times. The man stood.

Greg perked up, and looked toward Catherine.

The blonde heard the movement, and looked up from the crime scene photos. She saw the back of her friend as he headed for the exit. "Gil!" she stood to stop him.

Before Grissom could get too far, Agent Kramer stepped in his path. "Dr. Grissom, going somewhere?" he asked, sizing up the CSI supervisor. It was clear the agents had pegged him as the one with the most at stake, and the one that was willing to act on it.

Not in the mood to play games, Grissom tried to step around the roadblock. "I'm going to get some fresh air," he said, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Looking down at the offensive touch, he looked into Kramer's eyes, giving him a stern warning.

The agent released him instantly. "You're going to want to see this. It appears CSI Sidle is on a crime spree."

--//--

"…the man was found with a bullet in his head. Your ballistics confirmed it was Sidle's issued weapon," Agent Culpepper concluded.

"Motive?" Warrick asked, his emotions barely in check.

The slides were quickly changed, showing the mug shot of the deceased. "Thomas Levee was charged with domestic violence but there wasn't enough evidence for the charges to stick," Culpepper concluded.

Everything was going from bad to worse. Grissom's fear was quickly overtaken with worry. Sara was in serious trouble, and it wasn't the legal trouble he was concerned with. Evidence concluded she was bleeding, and she hadn't tried to call him. He knew in his heart that she hadn't called because she couldn't not because she didn't want to. Whatever the reasons, her silence was scared the hell out of him.

--//--

A thin layer of sweat broke out on Sara's forehead. She had finally managed to move her arm across her chest. Grabbing a fist full of the comforter, she pulled as hard as her muscles would allow. After a minute of struggling she was on her stomach and she took a moment to celebrate the accomplishment.

'Just get to the phone,' Sara told herself. Not sure what would happen once she got a hold of Grissom, she still didn't know where she was, but she knew he would find her.

--//--

Poking his head into the layout room, Nick noted the discouragement. It disturbed him how quickly the group had lost its optimism. "Archie's ready for us to listen to the FBI tape," he told his friends.

As everyone began to move, Greg voiced the thought no one else had, but everyone was thinking, "Why hasn't she called us? We know she didn't do this, but why isn't she here to defend herself?"

"I don't know Greg, but let's clear her name, so it's safe for her to come back," Warrick explained.

Grissom's phone rang. The group stopped, and turned hopefully. Looking at the number, 'Withheld' he shook his head, "It's not her, go ahead, I'll be right there." Hitting the button, he slowly brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello," he said. Silence greeted him. "Hello?"

"Gris…" her voice was weak, but it was Sara.

Scanning around him, he retreated to the confines of the layout room. "Sara? Are you ok? Where are you?" he asked in rapid fire.

"I…I'm…hotel. Trace call?" she stuttered out.

His concern multiplied exponentially with each word she spoke. "I can't trace the call. You're wanted for murder," knowing instantly that he had said too much he decided to quickly change the subject. "Sara what's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked hoping his words wouldn't upset her. He needed her to focus on where she was.

"Murder," she whispered clearly struggling for breath. "Don't understand."

"Sara you're hurt. I need to find you," he spoke trying to think of a way he could trace the number without raising a red flag. "Can you look out the window? Tell me what you see?"

"Can't walk," Sara explained.

Grissom closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.

A slight rustling sound was followed by a small cry of relief. "Note pad…Out of Towner."

"That's great Sara. Is there an extension on the phone, something with the room number?" he asked walking discreetly toward his office and grabbed his keys.

"109…you coming?" she asked relief evident.

"Yeah Sara, I'm on my way," he told her, rounding the corner; the path was clear. Stopping short of the door, he took a moment to think about the situation. Moving back to the reception desk he quickly scratched a note on a message pad, 'Cath. Cover for me. Will call. GG' and handed it to Judy. "Give this to Catherine immediately," he told her.

In the parking lot, he considered his choices. "Sara you still with me?" he spoke into the phone.

"Yeah. Tired," she admitted.

"Stay awake Sara. Where are you bleeding?" he asked taking his crime scene kit and med kit out of his SUV. He was technically about to help a fugitive. Not only did he need to be discreet, his ethics compelled him not to use government property to break the law. Getting into his car, he took a breath and waited for her answer.

"Head I think," she said underlined by mild confusion. "How?"

"Do you know why you can't walk?" he asked pulling out of the parking lot. He heard his office cell phone ringing and he was certain it was Catherine. Shaking his head, he didn't answer the call. He needed the rest of his team to have plausible deniability. They needed them working on the evidence not on administrative leave.

"Don't know…drug I think," Sara's voice quivered slightly.

Merging onto the highway, he accelerated quickly. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Just hang on," he pleaded with her.

--//--

Catherine heard Grissom's voicemail pick up for the third time. Deciding it was best not to leave a message, she could only hope his note was good news. That he had found Sara, and she would be able to clear everything up.

"…listen closely to this," Archie was saying.

"Go to hell," Sara's words echoed in the small room.

The lab rat made some quick work with his computer, and backed up the tape. Sara's words were drowned out by background static, but were followed by a resounding click.

"It was a tape?" Greg asked.

Archie nodded. "Yeah, I don't think Sara was even there for the struggle…or she wasn't conscious. The foot steps were too heavy. It also appears the fight was staged—"

"There was no heavy breathing," Catherine commented. "So Mr. Butler may have been an accomplice, but his partner didn't tell him about the entire plan?"

"Maybe, I'll keep working on this. See if I can pick up anything else," Archie explained.

"I'll stay here and help," Greg offered pulling up a chair with renewed hope.

--//--

Adrenaline shot through Grissom as he parked his car and spotted room 109. "I'm here Sara," he told her over the phone, running to the room. Peering through the window, he saw her lying motionless on the bed, receiver resting on her ear. He tapped on the window, and watched her jump slightly, but made no attempt to move. "I need to get my kit to pick this lock," he told her.

"K," was all she was able to muster. Allowing herself to relax the phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.

"Sara!" she could hear his voice, but could do nothing to console him. Suddenly his voice echoed through the door and the phone. "Sara, hang on," he pleaded.

Grissom's hands were shaking as he manipulated the lock. Feeling the knob turn, he quickly opened the door, and ran to the bed. Still unsure of her injuries, he was hesitant to move her. Crouching down in front her, he brushed her hair out of her eyes, and kissed her forehead. "Sara. Where are you hurt?" he asked scanning her briefly noting the dried blood caked on the side of her face and the swollen eye.

"I'm not sure," she felt better in his presence, but was still frightened by the situation.

"Do you think you have a neck or back injury?" he asked her again. Her inability to move was scaring him.

Shaking her head she reached for his hand. "No. It's a drug. When I woke up, I couldn't even open my eyes," Sara told him trying to push herself up.

Gently, Grissom slipped his hands under her arms, and lifted her in one smooth motion. Leaning her against the head board, he cringed when he took a good look at her.

"Is it worse then that day at the beach?" she asked trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled despite the situation. "Yeah. It's going to take more then a shower and some make up to fix this," he told her.

Knowing he was concerned with more than her well being she decided to take the direct approach. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to check you out first," he said getting the first aid kit. Before he could sit back down, his cell phone rang. Choosing to ignore it, he opened the white case and started to rummage through the contents.

Sara studied him. "You going to get that?" she asked.

He shook his head, and opened an alcohol wipe. "No. I'm going to fix these cuts, and get a blood sample. We need to figure out what you've been injected with," he explained, gently moving her hair away from the largest gash. "Honey, this looks like you were hit with the butt of a gun."

"I don't remember anything," she admitted quietly. Further explanations were stopped by the ringing of his phone. "Maybe you should answer that."

Pausing, Grissom looked at the caller id. "It's Catherine. I'll call her back," he told Sara, and started cleaning around her head wound.

Sara winced, but did her best to not pull away. "What day is it?" she asked him. As he reached for the gauze she noted the slight shaking of his hands.

Carefully taping the gauze in place, he paused, and took her hands in his. "It's still Monday. We've been looking for you for more than twelve hours." Leaning in he kissed her gently on the lips. "What else hurts?"

"Honestly, just my head," she told him, squeezing his hand. "I think."

"Well as reassuring as that sounds, I'll feel better once the drug wears off. I'll draw a blood sample, and figure out a way to get it to the lab," Grissom told her, releasing one hand to pull out a syringe.

"Figure out a way? Why can't we take it in?" Sara asked in confusion.

Expertly prepping her vein, his mind raced trying to formulate an explanation. All movement stopped at Sara's touch.

"Gris, whatever it is, I don't think it can be worse than what I'm thinking," she told him through a tense smile.

He finally stopped everything, and looked the woman he loved in the eyes. "Do you remember Craig Butler?"

Sara tensed, and her eyes grew dark.

Taking her response as confirmation enough, Grissom continued with a sigh. "Apparently you killed him this morning," he concluded.

Shock washed over Sara. "I wouldn't. I couldn't. Gris, there's no way. As much as I wanted to, there's no I would ever…"

"I know. The team knows. They're working to clear it up," he promised her and resumed his task.

Wincing as the needle punctured the vein, the weight of everything quickly caught up to her. The harder she tried to stop the tears, the faster they came.

--//--

Catherine slammed her hand down in frustration. "Answer the phone," she breathed out.

"Problems?" Agent Culpepper asked from the doorway.

Mustering the sweetest smile she could, the blonde pointed to the phone. "Teenagers. They're never near a phone when you want them to be," she lied quickly.

"Ah. Well, that seems to be the case with CSI night shift supervisors. They're never around when you need them," he said conspiratorially. "Any idea where Dr. Grissom has hid himself?"

Still smiling, Catherine walked past the man. "Well, being the night shift supervisor, I suspect he has more to do than make sure he's at your beckon call," she explained. Hearing a cell phone ring, she quickly reached for hers.

Agent Culpepper held his up. "It's mine," he said, flipping it open. "Hello? ... Who called the tip in? … The Out of Towner, got it. Roll out."

Catherine listened to the one sided conversation. A sickening feeling was beginning to work its way throughout her body.

"It seems our night shift supervisor has shacked up with a murder suspect," he told her and headed for the door.

Watching the man leave she looked down at her phone and tried to come up with a plan to help her friends. "Text message! Thank God for teenagers," she said to herself quickly working the key pad.

--//--

"I really think you should answer the phone," Sara told Grissom as it beeped again.

Scowling, he looked at the phone, trying to figure out what had caused the strange beep. "She decided to send a text message this time," he explained, and set the phone down.

Exasperated, Sara grabbed the cell, and opened the message. "Culpepper and feds going to the Out of Towner," she read. "Agent Culpepper? The FBI is after me?"

Fear shot through Grissom. "We've have to go. Now," he said while grabbing the two cases near his feet, and his keys. "I'll bring the car closer."

His urgency renewed Sara's fear. She watched him bolt across the parking lot. Any other time she would have laughed; she could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him run, it was a sore subject, but she found the sight humorous. Now it scared her, because it proved how out of control he felt.

Sara leaned her head back and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do to help the situation. She was starting to get the feeling back in her legs, but doubted she could even crawl to the door. She didn't know enough about the murder charge to definitively say one way or the other what happened. Grissom said it was Monday, but that really didn't help her.

Running back in to the room, Grissom had the phone to his ear. "I'm leaving the vial taped under the drawer. You need to test it for any type of paralytic," he was explaining to the individual on the other end. "She's got a head injury, still can't move, and doesn't remember anything," his eyes locked on hers for confirmation.

Shaking her head slightly, she waited silently.

"We need to leave now. I'll be in touch… I will… thanks Catherine," he finished and quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket. Taping the blood sample under the night stand, he looked her way again. "Ready?"

"Where are we going?" she asked him, as he scooped her up.

"We'll figure that out once we get some distance between us and Agent Culpepper," Grissom explained as he sat her in the passenger seat and buckled her in.

Watching him race around the front of the car, she waited until the car was in motion to continue. "Maybe I should just turn myself in—"

"Absolutely not. That would be the end of your career," he interrupted.

Grunting slightly, she looked out the window. "You may have just ended yours."

TBC