Illusion of Life

By Camilla Sandman

Spoilers: Season one and two references sprinkled around here and there

Disclaimer: *looks sad* If they were mine, I'd wuv them forever and ever and ever and. What? Oh right, reality. CSI is Alliance and CSB's. Them rich. Me not rich. But one day.

~~~~~~~~

Chapter Four

All storms had silence in the middle, a calm while the outside was ripped to shreds. Sometimes, Sara thought the CSIs lived in the eye of the storm, stuck in the calm while all around them the dead were mourned and life made less.

Sometimes, she thought it was just an illusion they clung to simply to lessen the impact of each death or it would consume them.

But no illusion could undo the sight of Warrick's blood and the sound of his metallic heartbeats in a white hospital room. One of them.

They had all gathered in the lunch room, waiting for Brass. The evidence had been gathered. They just needed someone to match it to. Fibres, fingerprints, an unregistered gun and a missing car. They would probably get more evidence when they found Warrick's car, hopefully something that could lead them in the right direction. An ID on the John Doe would be a good start. But for now, they just waited.

"Neo-nazis," Nick said disbelievingly. He stared down at his coffee cup, his face echoing the disgusted disbelief Sara felt.

Brass shook his head as he entered. "They're not truly nazis. Just punks looking for an excuse."

"They're killers," Catherine said fiercely. "Any news on the car?"

"Nothing," Brass held out his hands as if to indicate he did indeed have nothing. "It hasn't been spotted. They've probably dumped it somewhere it would take a while to be found."

Grissom looked pensive, Sara noted, doing a slight flick of his tongue. She wondered if he was aware of it or if he had left to head to another plane of existence.

"I do have an ID on our John Doe - James Rodriquez. Aged sixteen," Brass went on, just a hint of something that might once had been sympathy. "Mother lives at 501 Wickham Terrace."

The beeper went off, causing everyone to take a small dive for their own, but it turned out to be Gil's.

"Car found," he announced and everyone tensed. "Nick, process the car scene and get it towed in. Get the location from dispatch. Catherine, you go with Brass."

"Let's go, handsome," Catherine declared, marching out with a mix of energised anger and relief at something like a lead to grab onto. Nick and Brass followed.

"Let's go see what more our good doctor got from the autopsy," Grissom said after a moment, pushing his untouched coffee cup away and getting up. Sara followed him slowly into the hallway, wondering if there was enough coffee in the world to stop her from ever sleeping again. She didn't want to dream of Warrick's blood, so red in the dark night.

"Sixteen." she muttered, mostly to herself. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach she felt a twitch - more anger to fuel, another ghost to put to rest. "It seems so senseless."

"They all do," Grissom replied absentmindedly.

She stared at him, shaking her head slowly as they walked. "But this isn't about money or revenge or even jealousy. Just appearances."

"And hate."

"How can you hate someone just because of the colour of their skin?"

"You have never been attracted to a guy just for his looks?" Grissom asked innocently.

"No. I like my men for their brains," she smiled briefly, amazed that he had managed to lure her into something that was almost flirting, Grissom style. "Feelings should run more than skin deep."

"You're right, they should," he agreed. "But you do have lovely skin."

She halted; Grissom walked on, as if he'd just remarked something about the weather of late and hadn't just thrown her heart into wild gallop.

When Grissom showed no signs of slowing down, she bolted to catch up. He looked distant again, meaning he was probably back to thinking about the case. As it should be. Right. Case.

"I'm not sure Warrick will be pleased having Nick messing up his car," she said lightly.

"Maybe he'll donate it for an experiment." Grissom lit up. "I've always wanted to see how a high velocity car crash impact blood spatter."

She regarded him with a sideway glance, trying to determine if he was serious or not. If he wasn't, he had one of the best poker faces she'd ever seen.

They put on some lab coats in silence. It occurred to her that it could very well had been Warrick's autopsy and a chill went through her. Never. She'd never let that happen.

The coolness of the coroner's greeted her as they stepped into the silence. There was always a strange feeling of silence here, as if the dead were merely sleeping and no one wanted to wake them.

Sometimes, she wondered if the dead did indeed to speak to them in this room. Sometimes, she thought she only wished they did so their deaths wouldn't feel so final.

"Hey, Gil," Dr. Robbins greeted them with, looking grim and tired. "I hear Warrick will pull through."

"Yeah," Sara replied, approaching the body with a sinking heart. God, so young. He shouldn't have died.

"What have we got?" Grissom asked softly. If he felt uncomfortable, he didn't show it.

Sometimes, she hated him for his ability to detach himself so completely. Sometimes, she envied him. And sometimes, she pitied him. But even Grissom felt something, she was sure. Just buried deeper.

"The second gunshot is what killed him," Robbins was saying and she tried to listen. "Right between the eyes. He sustained heavy damage before that. Two fractured ribs, heavy bruising to the abdomen and thighs. Defensive wounds on his hands and arms. I think this boy was kicked and instinctively curled up into a foetus position. That would explain the positioning of his bruises."

He indicated the bruising, Grissom leaning closer to look.

"He definitely got them while he was alive."

"We didn't get shoeprints of the clothing," Sara shot in.

"I don't think they wore shoes. This kind of heavy damage would indicate you're either looking for Superman or someone wearing heavy boots."

"Army boots?" Grissom suggested.

"Could be. They kicked him with the tip, not the whole boot. He suffered a kick to the head here - it broke the skin. The boot would have blood and scalp on it."

"Catherine fond some scalp airs on Warrick's clothing," Grissom observed. "It came from the boot?"

"Probably. Someone also hit this kid with a blunt object in the back. A bat, perhaps a steel pipe or a similar object." Robbins looked up, eyes dark. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to hurt this kid."

"They kicked him, hit him, shot him and killed him," Sara muttered. She felt sick, but forced herself not to flinch. This was work. She could listen to the voices of the dead when it was just her, Sara, and not Sara Sidle of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. This was work.

"Yeah." Even Robbins' voice sounded pale. "I was thinking off stopping by the hospital later to see how our guy is doing."

"A lot better than this one," Grissom said darkly. "Thanks. Page me if you find anything new."

She followed him out, leaning against the wall in the empty hallway. It was quiet, but not quite silence.

"I'll have a look at the victim's clothes again," she muttered.

"I'll help Nick with the car," Grissom replied, but neither moved. She closed her eyes for a moment, when she opened them again she could feel his gaze on her.

"That could have been Warrick," she whispered.

"It isn't. We have a killer to catch and we can't...."

"I know!" she shot back. "We can't let our emotions get in the way. I've heard the speech, Grissom."

"I don't want you to burn out in this job, Sara."

He leaned forward, eyes warm and gentle and caring.

"You die a little each case if you let yourself. You need something other than death in your life."

"Right. Get a life," she muttered, a hint of anger in her voice. "Like you, Grissom? Passing the days is not life. It's just an illusion of life."

He looked hurt for a moment and she instantly wished she hadn't said it.

"I know," he said quietly. She stared at him.

"I know," he repeated, lifting a hand and cupping her cheek. She could hardly breathe, his intense gaze keeping her locked to him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she wondered if he would kiss her.

His breath brushed against her cheek, hot and tantalising. His fingers trailed her cheekbones down to her chin, up to her lips, lingering for the briefest moment and then he let his hand fall.

She stared after him as he walked away, her heart pounding wildly. Sometimes, she thought she might never fully understand Grissom. Sometimes, that angered her.

Sometimes, she wondered why he still made her feel more alive than anything else.