Author's Notes: Where the hell have I been? Um…I dunno. Right…anyways, here's an idea that had/has been kicking around my head for almost a month now. I seem to have hit a brick wall when it came to fic writing…had the ideas, but couldn't get them out. Hmm… Typer's Block maybe? Right…so here's my fic, hope u like it…And hope you are able to follow it ok… (the POV changes… think—"voiceover")
Note: This is not a "happy" fic…you've been warned.
Read on!
Note(s): There might be a chapter 2…depending on the reviews/how I feel….hint hint…
Ok ok…Read on!
* * * * * * * * *
Everyday we see people on the worst day of their lives.
Everyday.
Everyday.
And yet—
You still aren't prepared.
You aren't prepared…
For when—
When it happens to you.
* * * * * * * * *
*FLASH*
"Gunshot wound to the lower abdomen—left side."
*FLASH*
"Gunshot wound to the chest."
*FLASH*
"Defense wounds on the hands?"
She paused—dropping the camera from her face.
"I was getting to that," she replied, smiling slightly. He gazed over at her—his lips pursed together.
He smiled.
"Then by all means—continue," he answered, gesturing towards the body as he stood up.
*FLASH*
"Defense wounds on the hands—looks like scratches almost."
He looked over at her.
"And?"
"And—bruising around the knuckles—on the right hand—but not on the left," she answered; sounding slightly confused.
*FLASH*
"So?" She returned his stare.
"So—that tells me that he was either right handed, and used his left hand like a boxer," she demonstrated; holding up her left hand to shield her face. "Or—his left hand was incapacitated some how." She looked at him.
He gazed back at her.
"Perhaps."
She gave a loud audible sigh.
Silence.
A cell phone rang.
"Grissom."
*FLASH*
"Catherine—Cath-slow down—I can barely hear you," he slowly walked towards the front door. "Where-where are you?"
*FLASH*
She knelt down by the body; laying the camera down beside her gently.
Something didn't seem right.
Bruises on the right—none on the left.
"Bruises on the right—none on the left," she bit her lip in concentration. "Bruises on the right."
None on the left.
None on the left.
She quickly stood up.
"Catherine—it's ok. Sara and I have everything under control."
None on the left.
"Just get here when you can."
She stepped over the body—being careful not to touch it.
"Uh huh."
Creak.
"Right. I'll see you when you get here."
Bruises on the right.
Creak.
"Drive safe—yea."
The right.
"Bye."
Click.
"I know how he did it."
Silence.
Creak.
"Don't move."
She slowly looked back at him.
His expression made her blood run cold.
He wasn't looking at her.
Creak.
He wasn't looking at her.
Someone was here.
"Don't do it."
Click.
The shadows covered his face.
"Just put the gun down."
The silence was never so loud.
"Put the gun down."
Her voice cracked.
His palms were sweaty.
The shadows covered his face.
"I can't do that."
Click.
"I'm sorry."
She felt it before she heard it.
She heard it before she felt it.
He couldn't get to her fast enough.
He couldn't save her.
"I'm sorry."
He barely heard the thud as the body hit the floor.
He could only hear his heartbeat.
She was still standing.
Her face was a ghost white even in the darkness.
Her legs were going numb.
But the pain was still there.
The pain.
"Grissom."
She couldn't breathe.
The pain.
Sara.
She fell into him.
Her legs giving way.
She couldn't breathe.
Sara.
He felt her weight sag in his arms.
She didn't move.
He felt a silent scream rise from her, as he moved her off the previous victim.
The previous victim.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
He needed help.
The cell phone.
He needed help.
She needed help.
This wasn't happening.
"Send an ambulance to 251 Argonne Ave. Officer Down! Officer Down!"
He doesn't know how he got the words out.
"I repeat, Officer Down! Send an Ambulance now!"
He echoed.
Officer down.
This isn't happening.
Sara.
This isn't happening.
She needed him.
Her hand felt strangely warm.
The rest of her felt cold as ice.
"Grissom."
She could barely talk.
"I'm here Sara."
I'm here.
"Don't leave me."
He brushed her hair off her face.
Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.
"I'll never leave you."
Ever.
"Just stay with me Sara. Help is on the way."
Her breathing becomes labored.
"Stay with me."
He put pressure on her wound.
Her eyes flinch with pain.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't say that. It's not your fault."
She blinks rapidly.
A tear runs down her cheek.
"I'm so cold."
"Stay with me Sara."
Another tear.
"I'm so cold."
Her grip weakens.
"You're going to be ok."
You're going to be ok.
His hand feels warm.
The towel.
The towel soaked through.
"You're going to be fine."
His voice cracked.
Her eyes are squeezed shut—her face crumpled in pain.
"You'll be fine Sara—just keep breathing. Just keep—breathing."
Just keep breathing.
Just stay alive.
Alive.
Breathe.
"You'll be ok—you'll be ok. Just stay with me."
Her breathing comes in shallow rasps.
"Stay with me."
Please.
Sirens.
I can hear sirens.
"Hang on Sara—the paramedics are here—you're going to be fine."
You're going to be fine.
Silence.
"Sara?"
Her hands are so cold.
"Sara!?"
Footsteps.
Don't leave me.
Footsteps.
"Please move sir—we have to help her."
No—this isn't happening.
"Sir—are you hurt?"
No.
"Are you hurt?"
Don't leave me.
"Sir—look at me—are you hurt?"
"N-no, I'm—I'm fine."
A paramedic rushes by.
This can't be real.
"What about your hands?"
My hands.
"Is that your blood, sir?"
No.
"Sir?"
"N-no. I'm not hurt."
It's not me.
"Excuse me sir."
Another paramedic moves past.
I'm not hurt.
"Sir—you're going to have to move."
It's not my blood.
"Sir!?"
This—this isn't happening.
A car door slams.
"Sir!?"
Footsteps.
My hands.
"Gil!?"
My hands—it's not mine.
It's not mine.
It's not my blood.