A/N: After finishing this chapter, I asked my husband the question: If I was held at gunpoint would you trade your life for mine?
After scoffing at the likelihood of such a thing happening in the UK – London maybe but not Norwich, in rural Norfolk (we're more likely to get stabbed, sadly) – he had to think really hard about it and never really gave me a straightforward answer. When I asked the same question about our children, he said "yes" immediately. It gave me pause and I think that sums up nicely why we love Grissom so much.
Anyway, here's the next update. I hope you like it. I apologise in advance for the ending. Okay, well, I don't…you shouldn't have called me EVIL! ;-)
Warrick brought his left hand to his neck and pulled the syringe out. Eyes wide with horror and incredulity, he took an unsteady step forward into the room, and then another, aimed his gun toward McKay and managed to fire a round into her before slowly crumpling to his knees. Grissom watched helplessly as Warrick made eye contact with him, mouthing the words "I'm sorry," as he fell to the ground and the gun dropped limply out of his hand onto the tiled floor.
Grissom gasped with horror as frantic shouts of "Officer down!" filtered to his ears. Tears filled his eyes and he pushed himself off the bed onto shaky feet, managing to take a few steps forward but the room began to spin madly around him and he could go no further.
With nothing to lose, McKay had scrambled for the gun. Her shoulder bled heavily from where Warrick had shot her but using both her hands she managed to point and shoot blindly toward the open doorway at the two Reno PD officers taking cover on either side of it. She used the lull to launch herself forward, crashing against the wall behind the open door, and slid to the ground into a sitting position, making it impossible for the officers outside to get a clear shot at her without entering the room. Immediately, she trained the gun on Grissom.
"Hold your fire!" Grissom shouted toward the door. Still clutching the bloodied scalpel he'd used to slash McKay's face, he held out his hand to grab onto the wheelchair for support while closing his eyes to quell the dizziness. "Hold your fire," he shouted again at the door before turning to address McKay. He swallowed the tightness in his throat, his eyes flicking to the trembling gun aimed at his chest. "McKay, please, that's enough," he said in a pleading voice. "You've shed enough blood. Give yourself up."
At that moment in time, all he cared about was getting to Warrick and if McKay chose to shoot him, then so be it. His eyes locked to hers as he communicated his intentions and he took a few slow, shuffling steps toward Warrick's body spread eagle in front of the door and blocking a way out. His legs throbbed with lancing pain but he managed to stoop down and stared at Warrick through a film of tears for an instant before lovingly cupping the palm of his hand to his face and lowering trembling fingers to the younger man's throat near the syringe puncture mark. Feeling a pulse, he heaved and exhaled a long breath of relief and glanced toward McKay.
She hadn't moved from her position against the wall. She was using the open door as shield, both hands holding the gun firmly in his direction. Despite his bleariness, Grissom was almost certain that Warrick had got a shot in her left shoulder. Her breath was slow and laboured, her chest heaving painfully with each intake of air but despite her obvious pain and discomfort her eyes were still wide and evil.
He averted his eyes to Warrick. "It's okay, Warrick. I got you," he murmured, holding Warrick's head to him. "I got you, son. I'm sorry."
"Pull him in," he heard McKay instruct curtly. He looked up with confusion. "Pull him in," she repeated angrily with a wave of the gun, "or I finish him with a bullet in the head."
Grissom turned toward the open doorway, making eye contact with an officer poking his head round and dragged Warrick's body inside the room by the shoulder as best he could. McKay kicked the door shut after him.
"Sir?" came a loud voice through the door. "This is Sergeant Vickers from Reno PD. What's your status?"
Grissom looked at Warrick and then at McKay and with nothing left to lose turned back toward the door. He licked his lips, replying in a fraught voice, "McKay's got me at gunpoint."
"Shut up!" McKay snarled.
"She's hurt but lucid," Grissom went on, speaking over her, his words slow and slurred. "Warrick's down. He's hurt bad, but I think I feel a faint pulse."
McKay waved the gun in his direction. "I said, shut up! Or I shoot you. And him!"
"She injected him with…something," Grissom continued, calling her bluff. He shook his head, showing his frustration at the confusion in his mind. "He's out but still breathing. Please get some-"
Out of the blue, McKay shot a round in the ceiling, causing Grissom's heart to leap out of his chest and he cowered down, shielding Warrick's body with his. "Enough," she shouted. "Next one goes straight through your heart."
Grissom turned back toward McKay and shrugged his indifference. "I'm a dead man anyway. What difference does it make whether you kill me now or later?" He paused long enough to catch his breath. "You've won," he stated dejectedly. "Please, let them get help for Warrick."
Grissom was struggling to stay on his feet and conscious, as the drug he'd ingested really began to take hold. He felt woozy, as in a heavy state of drunkenness, and his eyes drifted shut by themselves and he swayed on the spot for a moment before automatically reaching back to cushion his fall. "Tell me what's in the syringe?" he asked pleadingly, reopening heavy eyes weakly. He lifted Warrick's head onto his lap and began gently stroking his face. "Please, what have you injected him with?" he asked again. "They need to know."
"It's too late for him," she said in a rasped whisper. "He's gone."
"No," Grissom insisted his voice rising with distress. "It's not too late. He's still got a pulse!" He scrunched his eyes shut at the sudden dizzy spell before slowly refocusing bleary eyes on McKay. She too was blinking her eyes uncertainly, sweat and blood running down her face. "Please, let them take him out," he tried again, hoping that her growing state of confusion would make her relent. "He's got nothing to do with this." He waved the scalpel between the two of them. "He's got nothing to do with us and what happened to Adam."
McKay's head was shaking vigorously. "No. No, no, no," she cried out with incredulity. "Not what happened to Adam but what you did to Adam," she corrected angrily, waving the gun menacingly toward him.
Grissom automatically put his hands up and realised for the first time he was still clutching the scalpel. He looked at his left hand, covered with McKay's blood and swallowed. "You're right," he said in a quiet voice. "What I did to Adam."
"No," McKay said emphatically. "What you and Sara did to Adam."
"Yes," he snapped with frustration, aware that the longer Warrick was left untreated the more chances he would have to die. "This is just between you and me, and Sara," he added in a whisper. "No one else."
McKay eyed him with a certain admiration for a moment and then smiled. "You care about him too, don't you?" she said as it suddenly occurred to her that Warrick wasn't just another police officer but someone dear to Grissom.
"Yes," he said with no hesitation, making eye contact. "I love Warrick as my son and now that you've taken him away from me like I took Adam from you we're even. I beg you, please, let them take him out."
"Why would I do that?" she said with a strange smile, her head shaking. "I can't run the risk. They'd try to take me out." She perked up suddenly. "Where is Brass anyway?" she asked with a frown toward the door. "I don't like this. It's too quiet."
It was quiet outside. "I swear I won't let them," Grissom said. "You can use me as hostage. They won't be able to get a shot at you without killing me."
McKay's head was shaking at his words and keeping the gun loosely trained on Grissom she leaned back against the wall and pushed herself up to her feet with a grunt. "No. That's not what's going to happen," she grumbled through the pain. "He's just going to have to be another casualty. Interest for your repayment."
Grissom averted his eyes to Warrick's limp body. Warrick needed help and he needed it now, or he didn't stance a chance. "What if I agree to take you to Sara, in exchange for his life? What if-" Tears fell down his cheeks and he began a slow rocking motion as he hugged Warrick to his stomach, looking up toward McKay. "What if I trade mine and Sara's life for Warrick's?"
This gave McKay pause. "You'd do that? You'd trade your life for a dead man?" she asked, the surprise evident in her voice.
"Yes," he replied without a trace of doubt. "I would."
Wouldn't every parent for their child? Every husband for his wife? he wanted to add. He began to rise to his feet with great difficulty, holding on to the edge of the bed for support and tried to hold her gaze. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for very much longer. His legs were weak and hurting like hell, shaking with the strain of standing up but he would push through the pain. He could hear the loud palpitations of his heart in his ears. His head was light, continuously spinning. He felt sick and hot and sweaty, and more and more drowsy as time went on. And sadly, even in his state of disarray these were symptoms he recognised only too well.
And symptoms that McKay shared. Maybe he could hold out a little longer until they both lost consciousness and PD stormed the room. But where did that leave Warrick? Grissom closed his eyes in a vain effort to gather his muddled thoughts and took a moment to catch his breath while he pondered his options. In his mind though, he had no choice. At that moment in time, Warrick came first. He slowly reopened his eyes and raised the scalpel to McKay's eye line before gently letting it fall to the ground.
"I'm done," he said quietly. "I'm done fighting with you." He shrugged helplessly and licked the salt off his lips. "You've won; you're the better man. I beg you with my life, please, let Warrick go."
McKay was holding her left arm up against her chest in an imaginary sling and she used her right hand, the one holding the gun to rub her face and eyes. Suddenly she seemed to have taken a turn for the worse as though she was having as hard a time coping with the drugs, her worsening state no doubt precipitated by her blood loss.
"What's the best you're looking at now anyway?" he asked, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. "You're right, Brass is planning something or he'd have been in here like a shot. We can stay here until we both lose consciousness and die – and we will." He smiled sadly and glanced at Warrick. "You gave us both GHB, didn't you? That, coupled with your injuries and my pain meds and…" He shrugged the rest of the sentence off, hoping that McKay wouldn't call his bluff because despite professing to the contrary he knew she was bearing up much better than him.
"Shut up," McKay snapped suddenly. She rubbed her face again. "I can't think. Stop your noise, I can't think!"
"This is it," he continued quietly. "The end of the road for you and me."
"Shut up," she snarled, moving forward toward him and aiming the gun square between his eyes. "Shut up and get in the chair."
Grissom glanced at Warrick and nodded, only too happy to oblige. Holding on to the side of the bed he shuffled to the wheelchair and collapsed into it with a strange sense of relief. McKay moved behind the chair and feeling the muzzle of Warrick's gun pressing hard against his right temple he closed his eyes wearily.
"If you dare try something stupid, I put a hole in your head," she said. And he had no reasons to doubt her.
McKay squared up her shoulders with a wince and touched up her hair. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and called loudly. "Captain Brass? Brass?" There was no response, only the low humdrum of hushed voices. "Don't try to buy yourself time," she said. "I know you're out there. Captain Brass," she intoned sweetly.
"Steady. Steady, now McKay," came Brass's breathless voice on the other side of the door.
"Am I giving you the run-around?" she asked with laughter in her voice. "You sound unusually flustered."
"I'm here. I'm good." There was a pause and it was clear that despite his cheerful tone Brass was nowhere near being good. "You've had your fun?" he then asked. "You're ready to come out with your hands above your head yet?"
McKay gave out an overly cheery chuckle that turned into a sputtering cough.
"Oh, dear, that doesn't sound good," Brass said in his usual sarcastic tone. "You ought to have that checked out. God knows you're in the right place."
"Warrick's dead," she said, cutting in briskly, "and our dear friend Grissom wants to see his beloved Sara one last time before he dies."
"That's not going to happen, McKay."
"Oh, yes it is," she replied coldly. She pushed Grissom's head with the muzzle of the gun but Grissom was unresponsive. "He's almost dead anyway. Don't you want to grant a dying man one final wish?"
"Gil? Gil, you're alright, buddy?" Brass asked, badly concealing his sudden panic. "Only you're not saying much."
Grissom was losing his battle against the GHB and he could only manage a quiet grumble in reply.
"I didn't take you for a dithering man," McKay told Brass. "Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Hickory, dickory, dock. The mouse ran up the –"
"All right," Brass snapped short-temperedly. "All right. I get the picture."
"Good." McKay clenched her eyes shut and shook her head briskly. "You're going to tell your men to stand down and…have a path cleared to the elevator. We're taking a trip."
There was a pause and then Brass was heard to give his orders. "Okay, McKay," he said. "You can come out now."
"Open, sesame," she said, jabbing the muzzle of the gun flush against Grissom's temple. "And don't try anything stupid or he's a dead man."
The door was slowly pushed open, revealing Brass with his hands up in the air. The crooked grin on McKay's bloodied face was evil, the madness in her eyes terrifying. His breath caught and he swallowed as he took in the scene with a glance, McKay's injured state, Warrick's body on the floor, his eyes resting on a semi-conscious Grissom for a moment longer. He let out a long sigh and made eye-contact with McKay.
"Jesus, what have you done?" he gasped.
"Put your gun away," she said, quieter now, motioning her head to the gun in his raised right hand.
Brass nodded and reholstered his gun with slow, measured moves before bringing his hands back up to his sides.
"You asked your men to stand down?"
Brass glanced up and down the corridor before giving a dejected nod of the head in reply.
"Step back and make sure the elevator's waiting. We're going up one floor. And no funny business or he gets it in the head. Understood?"
Grissom in a moment of lucidity, opened heavy-lidded, clouded eyes and shook his head imploringly at his friend.
Brass stared at Grissom and then at McKay, said, "No funny business. You got my word," and disappeared out of sight.
Grissom scrunched his eyes shut at Brass's words, causing unshed tears to fall and McKay began advancing forward. Holding the gun with one hand and the chair handle with the other, her progress was slow but she managed to push the wheelchair past Warrick's body and then out of the door. She didn't step out fully. "My finger's on the trigger," she said. "Dead flush against his temple. If I hear as much as a rustle of clothing, one squeaking of shoes on the polished floor I pull the trigger. Do you hear me Brass?"
"Yeah, I hear you. Now get on with it!"
Brass's temper was getting the better of him and McKay smiled. She pushed the chair out into the corridor, waited a beat and when she was satisfied that Brass was keeping his word, eased herself out carefully. The gun never leaving Grissom's temple, she moved down the corridor, slowly and with difficulty. When she got half-way down, Grissom slowly raised his head, his eyes snapping open wide, petrified and staring directly at Brass. Sure that he had the captain's attention he slowly blinked his eyes closed three times.
Brass briefly averted his eyes downward, indicating his understanding and readiness. With no hesitation or fear for his life, Grissom counted to three in his head and flung his right arm up as hard as he could, knocking McKay's arm and the barrel of the gun up toward the ceiling. A shot rang out. In the blink of an eye, Brass had reached for his gun in its holster, raised it toward McKay and with no hesitation fired a bullet into her head.
Thrown back hard onto the ground McKay was immediately surrounded by Reno PD officers while Brass rushed to Grissom's side. "Help Warrick, please," the CSI said in a fraught whisper, as he tried to pull himself up to his feet. "There's no more time."
"Don't you worry, buddy," Brass replied over the sudden chaos that erupted around the place. "They're already doing what they can for him." He slipped his hands under Grissom's arms and helped him support his weight before gently forcing him back down into the chair. "Why don't you just sit tight in here while I get someone to help you, huh?" He looked up and caught a nearby nurse's eye nodding his head toward Grissom. "It's all over now; McKay's dead."
"She's still breathing," Vickers shouted frantically. "I need help here!"
Brass looked over toward where Vickers was bent over McKay's body a few feet away from them but made no move to go to her. She was lying on her back, the gun at a safe distance from her body. He could have sworn he'd hit the bull's eye and he sighed. Still, she looked dead to him. "Shame we're at the hospital already," he muttered under his breath. "With my luck, they might just bring her back."
"Sara…" Grissom said as the nurse began to fuss over him.
"Sara's okay, Gil," Brass replied with assurance, moving back to make way.
"But McKay…"
"I had her moved. She's safe," Brass insisted quietly.
A doctor came with a gurney. "Catherine's…with her?" Grissom rasped as he was moved onto the gurney.
"No," Brass replied with a puzzled frown. "She's had to go back to Vegas. You know she did. She came to see you before she left."
"Oh," Grissom said dazedly. "Who's with Sara, then?" he asked with growing confusion.
The penny suddenly dropped and Brass swallowed. "Her mother."
Tbc.
A/N: Dare I ask? Reviews? ;-)
