Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm hella stoked that people took the
time to tell me what they think. You guys rock. I meant to post this
sooner, but I neglected to keep up with ff.net's advisories on down time.
I'm sorry for the delay. Forgive me and please review, as it's how I know that people still read what I'm writing. I hope you like this chapter.
*********************
Grissom watched as Dunn began to fill the syringe with Morphine and Meth. Good, he thought, that should buy us a few peaceful minutes. He continued to consider options for getting them both safely free from Charlie Dunn. His mind played the possibilities. Grissom had been witness to hostage situations. He knew SWAT would be positioned in optimal locations. He knew the sharpshooters would take the head shot, if they had it. Aimed for the base of Dunn's skull, the bullet would severe the brain stem where it met the spinal cord; death was instantaneous and there was almost no chance for the perp to squeeze off a reflex shot. A perfect kill. That's what worried Grissom. There was no room for error. The chances of getting an unobstructed shot at Dunn would be slim. Thoughts of an errant bullet weighed heavily on the CSI's mind, while the prospect of taking preemptive action suddenly took on greater appeal. That, coupled with the fact that Sara's hand had become markedly colder.
"You need me to come over there and haul the bitch to her feet?" Dunn drawled, his mind still on the drugs.
"I'm going to sit her up, Charlie. We'll both be ready."
"Better be, motherfucker. When she becomes not worth it, then I cap her and let those fuckers outside know I mean business."
Dunn returned to the business of shooting up. Grissom noticed that he'd placed a bottle of rubbing alcohol on his lap and was now reaching for a bag of cotton balls. The bag was open and Charlie looked at it with disgust. "Not sterile," he muttered. Abruptly, he stood, sending the plastic bottle tumbling to the floor. "Gotta be clean," he raised his voice as he turned toward the kitchen counter. His foot absently kicked the alcohol and it skidded silently across the carpet, coming to rest a couple of feet from Grissom.
"Sterile. Clean. You wouldn't understand. Nobody understands," Charlie continued rambling to himself as he searched a kitchen drawer. "You only know death."
Grissom kept his eye on the bottle as Dunn triumphantly held up a few packets of pre-moistened alcohol swabs. He turned and waved them at the CSI's. "See, I knew I was missing something. I need these. Gotta be clean," he said calmly. "Do you even understand how important cleanliness is? I was a healthcare professional. You only know death, but I know medicine?"
Grissom nodded to appease the man and watched as he turned and scrounged more packets from the drawer. He realized it was now or never and made a quick grab for the rubbing alcohol. Grissom had just managed to hide it between the small of his back and the wall when Dunn turned from the drawer and again took a seat at the table. He put all but one of the packets into the knapsack.
Briskly, he opened the remaining one and swabbed the inside of his arm several times. Smiling at Grissom, he injected the drug cocktail. Before his eyes could take on the familiar sheen, he looked pointedly at Sara. "Rise an' shine, bitch. You're on Charlie's clock now."
Grissom snapped back to reality and turned to Sara and the task at hand. "Ok, I'm going to sit you upright so we don't have Charlie doing it. Normally, I wouldn't move you, but he's not giving us much choice." Sara nodded and started to move, but Grissom stopped her. "Let me do the work. Just tell me if I'm hurting you, all right?"
"Ok," she managed.
Grissom couldn't help but notice that Sara had become increasingly quiet in the past few minutes. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he sorted out the meaning, but his entire conscious focus was now upon not hurting Sara further. Carefully, he placed his hands under her left arm and gently pulled her to a more upright position. Using his legs to brace her, he managed to ease Sara into a sitting position against the wall. Grissom studied her face and found her lips were drawn tight with pain and her eyes were squeezed shut.
"I'm sorry, Sara. That's the worst of it for now." He stroked her face and noticed how rapid her breathing had become. Alarmed, he raised his voice slightly, "Sara, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me. You need to slow your breathing."
"It hurts, Griss."
"I know it does," he tried to make his voice more soothing than fearful. "Just stay calm. Don't talk."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Grissom shut his own eyes briefly, before taking a deep breath and refocusing on her. He had never seen her this vulnerable. Sara was tough. Strong, stubborn and rarely admitting to anything remotely resembling fear; the woman would rather cut off an arm than admit to being scared. "Don't be," he replied softly. "I'm right here with you. Look at me, Sara. You're going to be fine. Please trust me."
Slowly, her eyes opened and met his. He was relieved that her breathing had slowed somewhat and a hint more color was returning to her face. "That's better," he gave her a lopsided grin.
"Do you have a handkerchief for your plan?" She managed to show him a small grin of her own.
"Reading my mind again, huh?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at her.
"Can't help it. You've got a sexy brain," Sara replied while casting a quick glance toward where she had seen him put the bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Likewise," Grissom replied and leaned closer to whisper a few words into her ear.
******************************
Catherine and Brass watched as an unmarked police sedan pulled to within thirty yards of the apartment building. The plainclothes officer driving emerged to speak with Martinez.
Catherine paced nervously. "So, what are the chances of Dunn actually making it to that car, Jim?"
"Could you please stay in one place? You're making me dizzy," Brass replied.
She frowned, but joined him in leaning against one of the SWAT vans.
"My nervous system thanks you, Cath."
"So answer my question then."
"I can't," he sighed in irritation. "Not with any degree of certainty. You know that. I've seen perps get taken out the second they're in range. It all depends."
"As much as I'd love to see Dunn taken out, the chance of a misplaced shot scares the hell out of me."
"Yeah, me too," Cath. Brass removed his sunglasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. "The fact is, Dunn's unstable and an imminent threat."
"And they'll never let him get to the car," Catherine seemed to concede.
"Probably not."
Martinez caught Brass's attention. "Make your call." Tell him the car's here and push him to leave an open line as they're coming out. Sell him on it."
"Round four," Brass said flatly as he and Catherine headed for the communications van.
****************************
Sara's head rested on Grissom's shoulder. He noticed that she no longer perspired. Rather, her skin had become much cooler. Shock was definitely taking hold. "How're you doing?" he asked softly.
Sara opened her mouth to answer and was wracked by a series of coughs. Grissom quickly pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket, grasping the disposable lighter along with it. Dropping the lighter between their two bodies, he brought the cloth to Sara's mouth.
"It's ok, just relax," he urged as she continued to cough. "Take shallow breaths."
Sara seemed to relax after several seconds and he smiled to himself. Their rouse had worked. They now had all the tools they needed and within easy reach: fuel, wick and starter. He moved the handkerchief from her mouth and suddenly felt his stomach turn to ice. He stared at the bright red blood spray now coloring part of the cloth. His mind raced as his breathing seemed to stall. She's bleeding. Damnit, she's bleeding! The thoughts ran through his brain and he was powerless. A punctured lung? Hemorrhaging? Sara coughing up blood. No, no, it can't happen. We're almost out of here. Not now. Please, not now! Grissom quickly tucked the cloth between them, placing it over the lighter. He tried to force a smile to his lips as he felt her turn toward him. He knew it was a miserable attempt to shroud his feelings.
"It's ok, Grissom," she tried to reassure him. "I know. I think my lung is punctured."
"You didn't say anything."
"What would you have done?"
"I don't know. Something."
"The past hour or so it's been getting harder to breathe," she whispered. "I didn't want you doing anything dumb on my account."
"Like saving your life or something," he replied dryly.
"No, like getting yourself killed."
He couldn't reply, but lowered his head, unable and unwilling to meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Griss."
He continued staring at his legs. "There's no reason for you to be sorry. Don't talk."
"I mean, I'm sorry if I can't make it," she whispered and reached out for his hands.
Grissom jerked away and raised his head, his eyes full of anger and fear. "Stop it! Apology not accepted."
"Griss, listen to me."
"I said, apology not accepted," he replied harshly.
Anger, then recognition flashed in Sara's eyes and she turned away from him.
"I never thought you were a quitter, Sara. Guess I was wrong."
"I'm not," she barely managed to whisper.
"Then don't quit, damnit." Grissom's voice was shaking. "I swear, Sara, if you give up, I will never forgive you." His throat burned and his heart ached as he reached out and pulled her head back to his shoulder. His hands were gentle and his fingers caressed her face in soft strokes. "I'll never forgive you."
Sara's breathing was shallow as she settled against him and relaxed into his body. "I love you too, Griss."
TBC
I'm sorry for the delay. Forgive me and please review, as it's how I know that people still read what I'm writing. I hope you like this chapter.
*********************
Grissom watched as Dunn began to fill the syringe with Morphine and Meth. Good, he thought, that should buy us a few peaceful minutes. He continued to consider options for getting them both safely free from Charlie Dunn. His mind played the possibilities. Grissom had been witness to hostage situations. He knew SWAT would be positioned in optimal locations. He knew the sharpshooters would take the head shot, if they had it. Aimed for the base of Dunn's skull, the bullet would severe the brain stem where it met the spinal cord; death was instantaneous and there was almost no chance for the perp to squeeze off a reflex shot. A perfect kill. That's what worried Grissom. There was no room for error. The chances of getting an unobstructed shot at Dunn would be slim. Thoughts of an errant bullet weighed heavily on the CSI's mind, while the prospect of taking preemptive action suddenly took on greater appeal. That, coupled with the fact that Sara's hand had become markedly colder.
"You need me to come over there and haul the bitch to her feet?" Dunn drawled, his mind still on the drugs.
"I'm going to sit her up, Charlie. We'll both be ready."
"Better be, motherfucker. When she becomes not worth it, then I cap her and let those fuckers outside know I mean business."
Dunn returned to the business of shooting up. Grissom noticed that he'd placed a bottle of rubbing alcohol on his lap and was now reaching for a bag of cotton balls. The bag was open and Charlie looked at it with disgust. "Not sterile," he muttered. Abruptly, he stood, sending the plastic bottle tumbling to the floor. "Gotta be clean," he raised his voice as he turned toward the kitchen counter. His foot absently kicked the alcohol and it skidded silently across the carpet, coming to rest a couple of feet from Grissom.
"Sterile. Clean. You wouldn't understand. Nobody understands," Charlie continued rambling to himself as he searched a kitchen drawer. "You only know death."
Grissom kept his eye on the bottle as Dunn triumphantly held up a few packets of pre-moistened alcohol swabs. He turned and waved them at the CSI's. "See, I knew I was missing something. I need these. Gotta be clean," he said calmly. "Do you even understand how important cleanliness is? I was a healthcare professional. You only know death, but I know medicine?"
Grissom nodded to appease the man and watched as he turned and scrounged more packets from the drawer. He realized it was now or never and made a quick grab for the rubbing alcohol. Grissom had just managed to hide it between the small of his back and the wall when Dunn turned from the drawer and again took a seat at the table. He put all but one of the packets into the knapsack.
Briskly, he opened the remaining one and swabbed the inside of his arm several times. Smiling at Grissom, he injected the drug cocktail. Before his eyes could take on the familiar sheen, he looked pointedly at Sara. "Rise an' shine, bitch. You're on Charlie's clock now."
Grissom snapped back to reality and turned to Sara and the task at hand. "Ok, I'm going to sit you upright so we don't have Charlie doing it. Normally, I wouldn't move you, but he's not giving us much choice." Sara nodded and started to move, but Grissom stopped her. "Let me do the work. Just tell me if I'm hurting you, all right?"
"Ok," she managed.
Grissom couldn't help but notice that Sara had become increasingly quiet in the past few minutes. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he sorted out the meaning, but his entire conscious focus was now upon not hurting Sara further. Carefully, he placed his hands under her left arm and gently pulled her to a more upright position. Using his legs to brace her, he managed to ease Sara into a sitting position against the wall. Grissom studied her face and found her lips were drawn tight with pain and her eyes were squeezed shut.
"I'm sorry, Sara. That's the worst of it for now." He stroked her face and noticed how rapid her breathing had become. Alarmed, he raised his voice slightly, "Sara, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me. You need to slow your breathing."
"It hurts, Griss."
"I know it does," he tried to make his voice more soothing than fearful. "Just stay calm. Don't talk."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Grissom shut his own eyes briefly, before taking a deep breath and refocusing on her. He had never seen her this vulnerable. Sara was tough. Strong, stubborn and rarely admitting to anything remotely resembling fear; the woman would rather cut off an arm than admit to being scared. "Don't be," he replied softly. "I'm right here with you. Look at me, Sara. You're going to be fine. Please trust me."
Slowly, her eyes opened and met his. He was relieved that her breathing had slowed somewhat and a hint more color was returning to her face. "That's better," he gave her a lopsided grin.
"Do you have a handkerchief for your plan?" She managed to show him a small grin of her own.
"Reading my mind again, huh?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at her.
"Can't help it. You've got a sexy brain," Sara replied while casting a quick glance toward where she had seen him put the bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Likewise," Grissom replied and leaned closer to whisper a few words into her ear.
******************************
Catherine and Brass watched as an unmarked police sedan pulled to within thirty yards of the apartment building. The plainclothes officer driving emerged to speak with Martinez.
Catherine paced nervously. "So, what are the chances of Dunn actually making it to that car, Jim?"
"Could you please stay in one place? You're making me dizzy," Brass replied.
She frowned, but joined him in leaning against one of the SWAT vans.
"My nervous system thanks you, Cath."
"So answer my question then."
"I can't," he sighed in irritation. "Not with any degree of certainty. You know that. I've seen perps get taken out the second they're in range. It all depends."
"As much as I'd love to see Dunn taken out, the chance of a misplaced shot scares the hell out of me."
"Yeah, me too," Cath. Brass removed his sunglasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. "The fact is, Dunn's unstable and an imminent threat."
"And they'll never let him get to the car," Catherine seemed to concede.
"Probably not."
Martinez caught Brass's attention. "Make your call." Tell him the car's here and push him to leave an open line as they're coming out. Sell him on it."
"Round four," Brass said flatly as he and Catherine headed for the communications van.
****************************
Sara's head rested on Grissom's shoulder. He noticed that she no longer perspired. Rather, her skin had become much cooler. Shock was definitely taking hold. "How're you doing?" he asked softly.
Sara opened her mouth to answer and was wracked by a series of coughs. Grissom quickly pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket, grasping the disposable lighter along with it. Dropping the lighter between their two bodies, he brought the cloth to Sara's mouth.
"It's ok, just relax," he urged as she continued to cough. "Take shallow breaths."
Sara seemed to relax after several seconds and he smiled to himself. Their rouse had worked. They now had all the tools they needed and within easy reach: fuel, wick and starter. He moved the handkerchief from her mouth and suddenly felt his stomach turn to ice. He stared at the bright red blood spray now coloring part of the cloth. His mind raced as his breathing seemed to stall. She's bleeding. Damnit, she's bleeding! The thoughts ran through his brain and he was powerless. A punctured lung? Hemorrhaging? Sara coughing up blood. No, no, it can't happen. We're almost out of here. Not now. Please, not now! Grissom quickly tucked the cloth between them, placing it over the lighter. He tried to force a smile to his lips as he felt her turn toward him. He knew it was a miserable attempt to shroud his feelings.
"It's ok, Grissom," she tried to reassure him. "I know. I think my lung is punctured."
"You didn't say anything."
"What would you have done?"
"I don't know. Something."
"The past hour or so it's been getting harder to breathe," she whispered. "I didn't want you doing anything dumb on my account."
"Like saving your life or something," he replied dryly.
"No, like getting yourself killed."
He couldn't reply, but lowered his head, unable and unwilling to meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Griss."
He continued staring at his legs. "There's no reason for you to be sorry. Don't talk."
"I mean, I'm sorry if I can't make it," she whispered and reached out for his hands.
Grissom jerked away and raised his head, his eyes full of anger and fear. "Stop it! Apology not accepted."
"Griss, listen to me."
"I said, apology not accepted," he replied harshly.
Anger, then recognition flashed in Sara's eyes and she turned away from him.
"I never thought you were a quitter, Sara. Guess I was wrong."
"I'm not," she barely managed to whisper.
"Then don't quit, damnit." Grissom's voice was shaking. "I swear, Sara, if you give up, I will never forgive you." His throat burned and his heart ached as he reached out and pulled her head back to his shoulder. His hands were gentle and his fingers caressed her face in soft strokes. "I'll never forgive you."
Sara's breathing was shallow as she settled against him and relaxed into his body. "I love you too, Griss."
TBC