Disclaimer: The characters and lab of CSI are owned by people smarter and more talented than me. I'm doing this for fun, not for any money, so please don't sue me :)

Notes: I had planned this as a one off, but with almost everyone who's given feedback asking me to continue, I'm gonna try and carry on. Please be aware tho that I have no real idea yet where this is going, guess we'll have to wait and see what evil the plot bunnies come up with next… LOL

Notes on Feedback: As a writer, I am always keen to receive feedback. I want to know what is liked, or disliked, about my stories. Constructive criticism is especially welcomed as it helps me to write better. All I ask is that, when leaving a review, please be mature about it and don't do a "Todd" as no-one likes to be insulted or sworn at. Thanks :)


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Watching Catherine leave the room, I breathe a silent sigh of relief, as I have done every night for the past week. Although I'm fairly sure she has no idea of what took place in the lab that day, I'm still on edge. She doesn't seem to be treating me any differently, though Grissom has been a little dismissive of me since it happened. I'm furious with myself for being so damn sloppy, though I'm just as angry with her for being so blind. Shaking my head, I turn back to my work, wanting to get Grissom's tests done ASAP.

Several hours later, I'm so wrapped up in my work that the deafening bang I hear makes me jump, just as the glass front wall of the adjoining room explodes outwards, spraying glass everywhere. Darkness descends on the building for a split second, before the emergency generator kicks in, illuminating the two bodies on the floor in the corridor. One is Sara, and she looks to be a little hurt, but mainly ok. The other isn't moving, the spiky hair helping me to identify the person as Greg, the charring on his lab coat suggesting serious injury. Stripping off my latex gloves, I grab a fresh pair and hurry out to them, kneeling beside Greg and pressing my fingers to his neck. A small sigh escapes my lips as I find a pulse; it's weak and thready but it's there. "Stupid bastard," the thought runs through my mind before I clamp down on it, knowing I have to concentrate on the situation at hand.

Laying blame can wait until later.

Droplets of water are soaking into my lab coat as I help Sara to her feet, steering her out of the building and into the relative safety of the parking lot. I may see her as a young upstart with little talent, but she's still one of our team, and she looks so shot away that I can't help feeling a little sorry for her. As we exit the building, I can hear sirens in the distance. I guess the emergency services are on their way. Soon fire fighters are swarming everywhere, sorting out the fire in the lab as paramedics deal with the minor casualties. Standing a few feet from the door, I watch as a stretcher emerges carrying Greg, Grissom at his side. They race off, leaving all of us to wonder what happened, and who's to blame.

Someone speaks to me but I don't really hear what he's saying, my attention is focused on Grissom as he approaches Sara. The look of tenderness on his face angers me; it's the same look I want to see on her face when she looks at me, the one I dream of every night, the only true woman on the shift. But I know she'll never look at me that way and the knowledge infuriates me. Shaking off the paramedic as soon as he's finished treating the cut on my arm, I make ready to go back to work, knowing questions will be asked, and answers demanded.

Can the evidence say who's to blame?