Disclaimer: They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

Remember NO beta… please be forgiving.

I upped the rating on this because of a few swear words, and implied sex in previous chapters.

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I am a review slut, so you all are fulfilling my sad and pathetic need for approval. For that I am truly grateful.

Sorry this took so long to post… really – I was away on the weekend touring beautiful Penn State. I had a chapter of the novel I am writing with a partner to toss out of my head before she walked all the way from Florida to murder me in my sleep. Plus I worked and had a minor case of lethargy… It is gone now as you can see.

On with the show…

Chapter 7

When Brass, Grissom and Catherine entered the main surgical waiting area they found themselves surprisingly alone, save three other figures each of whom looked a seriously worse for wear.

Greg Sanders had clearly been sleeping when Warrick had called. After having pulled a double three days in a row, he'd had no choice but to try and catch at least a couple hours shuteye before his body closed down completely. And he'd been so exhausted and harried, after hearing the news, that he'd actually shown up in his Daffy Duck pajama bottoms and an old Stanford sweatshirt his father had once owned; to say that he was a sigh for sore eyes would have been an utter lie… He was more likely to cause retinal damage than repair it. This was the Greg of days gone by with his hair – uncombed – making him resemble more the used-to-be lab rat than, the Mr. Straightedge, CSI that he'd been trying transform himself into.

He'd been booked to fly out at three in the afternoon to celebrate a late evening Christmas dinner with his family, but Nick's injury combined the fact that night shift was now short a body on an already lean skeleton crew, had put the kibosh on that, as he'd been left feeling guilty about leaving. He moved towards the two men in the room just as the rest of the group entered behind him, a cold cup of coffee still clutched in his hand.

In front of both he and Warrick, stood a thin scraggly man in his early sixties; sporting short gray stubble upon his head and chin. The doctor looked haggard even by ER standards and was already mid explanation when everyone else arrived. "Though, Mr. Stokes injuries were not individually life threatening, he was at serious risk from a combination of them."

"But he's going to be okay?" Normally, someone who presented himself to the world as very together, Warrick Brown looked anything but that at the moment. Much like Greg, he'd dressed quickly and haphazardly. Evidence of this could be found in the holey UNLV track pants, matching t-shirt, and paint-spattered hoodie, he was wearing. Truth be told, he looked as though he'd just crawled out of a dumpster, and if asked, he probably would have admitted to feeling like someone had dropped one on him. "He'll make a full recovery right?" There was a note of anguish on his face, and a strain in his rich baritone voice.

Nick and he were like brothers in a lot of ways and despite the occasional bout of sibling rivalry, the two of them supported each other through a variety of difficult patches over the years.

"Barring any complications from infection, and the minor concussion he has, Mr. Stokes should recover fully."

A series of heavy sighs, and released breaths escaped the five people in the room.

Greg, who'd spent the last hour nursing his ice cold coffee, dropped it into a nearby garbage can and moved in a little closer, his hands shoved anxiously into his jean pockets. "So he's going to be okay? You're sure?" He reiterated at the same time taking in the distressed faces of his colleagues and friends. Grissom in particular looked brutal. His normally tanned countenance was pasty white and horribly drawn, despite the good news.

"In medicine we never say for sure, but again, he should be up and moving in a few weeks, and back to work in say six." Whipping of his sweat soaked cap, the surgeon shoved it into his pocket, and checked his beeping pager. "I have to run. There's a shooting victim on his way in."

"Now just hold up a minute, doctor." Warrick had waited almost two hours for news, he wasn't about to let the man leave with unanswered questions.

"Just what exactly is the extent of his injuries?" Catherine cut it, she was insanely happy that Nick would be okay, but she was also desperately wondering when she would actually be able to talk to him; hoping that he could help put to rest the identity of the young woman killed in the car with him.

"Well he's damn lucky he was thrown from the vehicle, despite the fact that that incident is probably what caused the fractured femur. Aside from the broken leg, he maintained several broken ribs, a punctured lung which led to its subsequence collapse, and a ruptured spleen. He has minimal burns on his arms and face, but the removal of the spleen, and re-inflating the lung were our main concerns. Both of those situations have been rectified, and his leg has been set. Within a few weeks Mr. Stokes should be able to get around on crutches. Naturally we'll be monitoring his head injury for the next twenty-four hours."

"Thank God…" Catherine swiped a shaking hand across her forehead. "When will we be able to see him? Talk to him?"

The doctor's eyebrows almost met in the middle of his forehead. "Well, he's in recovery now, but he won't be roused and coherent for at least a couple more hours. After that he will be in his own room. You might be able to talk to him then." He looked down at his pager again. "I really have to go." With that he turned and dashed frantically out of the room.

"That's just fucking great…" Already completely stressed, Catherine couldn't hold it in anymore. Slim fingers massaged at her forehead as yanked her cell out of her pocket with the other hand. "I'm uh…" She looked at the four pairs of eyes staring at her. "I'm going to call the lab." A moment later she was gone, as well, having headed outside to catch a breath of fresh air, and make her phone call.

"Gris…" Greg stood in the middle of the room hands still in his pockets, while Warrick seemed to have settled in on an orange plastic chair for the long haul.

Brass walked over and nudged his friend when he realized that he hadn't heard the younger man.

Appearing almost shell-shocked, the night shift supervisor lifted his eyes to meet those of his former DNA tech.

"I can work tonight. I know Nick was supposed to be on duty with Sara and you. Catherine should be at home with Lindsay, it is Christmas after all, and Warrick already said he wanted to stay here with Nick, so I cancelled my flight."

Work was the absolute furthest thing from Gil Grissom's mind, and the mention of Sara's name had brought with it another round of anguish and denial, accompanied by a cutting a flash of memory from the night before. "Merry Christmas, Grissom..." The recollection of her words attacked his already vulnerable brain cells, and he almost doubled over in response. Completely ignoring the younger man he moved to a nearby chair, and dropped into it, his head immediately falling into his hands.

Totally, confused both Greg and Warrick cast a baffled looks in Brass' direction, Greg's eyes still studying the older man now slumped disconsolately in the chair.

When no explanation was forthcoming Greg Sanders shrugged and yanked a quarter out of his pocket before making his way over to the pay phone in the corner of the room. "I'm going to call Sara and update her. I've been calling all morning, but she's not picking up." He dropped the quarter into the slot, and continued his monologue more to himself than anyone else. "She said she was going out last night, so she might still be sleeping. I know she'll come when she gets up and gets the message."

A thick hand removed the receiver from the younger man's and quickly returned it to the hook.

"What the…" The former tech was really confused now.

Brass sucked in a shallow gulp of air, wondering when it had suddenly become so hard to breathe, and then shook his head at the man in front of him. Swallowing audibly, he waited a moment to see if Grissom, wanted to say anything, but his old friend seemed to have withdrawn completely into himself. "Warrick…" He beckoned the other occupant in the room over with a heavy heart. He was about to break the news to the rest of the crew when a blonde whirlwind made her way into the room.

"Hey…" Sofia Curtis seemed no worse for wear as she turned off her cell, and dropped her eyes to Grissom before walking over to join the other three men, a mixture of odd emotions playing across her face. "I'm so sorry, I just heard. And I was on my way here to pick up a SAE kit from an assault victim this morning, so I thought I would come up and see how everyone is doing." Her gaze once again ran over the man sitting unmoving in his chair. Grissom looked almost like he was asleep, but his tightly clasped fists and jagged breaths were a dead give away. She glanced back at Brass. "I ran into Vartan on my way out of the lab, he was coming to see Archie and asked me to give you a message."

Brass attempted to wave the young woman off, but she was so intent on delivering her message that she didn't even notice it.

"He wanted me to tell you that he went to the Venetian like you asked, got an affirmative for Nick Stokes, and guest. It took him until twenty minutes ago to get a court order for the film; Judge Melford is apparently very pissed off at being interrupted during his Christmas festivities. Vartan said he's going to go through the surveillance and will get back to you if he gets an ID on the guest." The blonde CSI swung her head to look at

the hunched man for a moment, uncertain of what was going on, and equally unsure as to whether he would have told anyone about meeting the other couple at the restaurant, since that would mean admitting that he had been there with her. "I can tell you, he's wasting his time. It was Sara who was with him last night, we…" She indicated herself and Grissom"…saw them together at dinner."

Brass' face dropped along with those of Greg and Warrick.

Warrick simply shook his head as if to say…I did not just hear that….while the younger of the two tossed a furious look at his boss, pissed that the man had clearly hurt his best friend, yet again. How thick could he man be? Grissom knew Sara had feelings for him. Hell everyone knew. So why the fuck, would he date someone so close to home? Someone he knew she would find out about? No wonder she wasn't picking up. He was still contemplating the full meaning of her being with the Texan when Sofia continued.

She'd been analyzing Grissom from across the room wondering if her words had sunk in, but he sat unmoving, almost catatonic in his behavior. "How is Nick? I heard he was serious but stable, and again I'm sorry to hear about Sara. Do you want me to see if I can find her relatives…So they can be notified?"

That snapped the exhausted Captain out of his stupor, but it was a second too late to stop the damage. Not that he hadn't been ready to tell them just moments before but this was a hell of a lot more blunt than he'd wanted it to be. "Sofia!" Brass gritted his teeth as he watched the realization sink in.

"Sara…" It was uttered in unison, as both Warrick and Greg exchanged horrified looks.

"She was with Nick in the truck?" Warrick's voice betrayed his disbelief.

A cold shiver had run down Greg's spine and it translated into a quiver in his voice. The terrible weight of dread had suddenly taken up residence in his stomach. "Notify her family? She's not? She can't be…"

"Stop…" Brass ordered angrily, effectively stopping the young woman before she had a chance to say any more. He then turned to the two other men and shook his head slowly. "I was just going to tell you. There was a passenger in the car with Nick when he was hit."

"No…" Greg swallowed hard and shook his head.

"You're right Greg. We don't have a definitive answer either way." The older man ground the words out, with a malice intended for the blonde woman in front of him. "The body of the woman was burnt beyond recognition. We are waiting for DNA to give her an identity. Until then she is just Jane Doe… number whatever, Okay?" He fixed a pained stare on the two men and then nodded, indicating for the time being that that was all he was going to say. They didn't need details, and he wasn't about jump any further into an emotional quicksand by giving any. It just hurt too much to think of Sara as anything but alive, vibrant, and probably pissed as hell at Grissom - if what went down the night before was anything close to what he suspected to have happened.

There was honest regret in Sofia's voice. "I…I'm sorry I thought everyone knew…These things are hard to deal with I know… and it may hurt, but you have to accept the…"

"Jesus…" Warrick cut her off before she could say anything more. "This is so…" His voice broke and he drew his hand across his face, swiping nonchalantly at the tears that had gathered in his eyes. "It ain't her man." Losing Sara would be devastating. He loved her like a sister; a tall, white, gawky, outspoken, sister, but a sister none the less.

His eyes shifted to Greg, his heart going out to the younger man. Sanders' face had gone from warm beige to a dull gray in a matter of seconds, and for a second he thought for certain that the newest CSI was going to vomit. He reached out a steadying hand. "Nuthin's for sure, Greg, nuthin's for sure."

"Who the fuck did you give the goddamn samples to?" Catherine Willows was on a rampage. Her phone, though shut, was still clenched in her hand, as she burst into the waiting room. White knuckles scraped across the roughened material of her black suit jacket as she jammed the cell into her pocket for what had to be the hundredth time in two hours. She stopped a moment and eyed the other blonde in the room, before scoffing and then plowing on. "The person I talked to in DNA doesn't even know who the hell Gil Grissom is… let alone, recognize me."

"I dunno. Who do I look like Madame Blavatsky? I'm PD remember…?" Brass turned Grissom to see if he could shed any light on the situation, but it was Greg who answered.

"Mandy is in San Francisco visiting her girlfriend's family, and Dean, the day shift guy, is in Pahrump with his wife. They hired some temp or something to cover for the day." There was a sob underlying his words as he turned and made his way towards the door.

Warrick was off after him, instantly. "Greg, man where're you goin'?"

The former lab rat shrugged; a world of torment visible in his dark eyes. "Someone's gotta make the match."

Catherine, Warrick, and Brass all clamored in to try and stop him, but above their voices one other could be heard. It was soft and anguished, but spoke with enough authority to warrant silence from the other three.

"Let him go." Grissom stood and turned then, making his way past the younger man and out into the hallway.

He needed some time alone…

Some time to think…

Just some time…

No one heard his muffled sobs as he escaped down the stairwell and into the chapel on the main floor.

TBC