Chapter Nine

One moment he had been kissing Sara, feeling nothing but alive. The next moment, he was out in the mud, feeling nothing but hate.

He knew it was them, not just because the evidence pointed towards them, but because he knew. The very air around them seemed to be filled with the scent of death. Death in their wake. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to.

They sensed his approach, one tensing up and looking ready to bolt, the rest just looking at him calmly.

One of these boys had shot Warrick.

The hatred took his heart like a claw, painful and raw. The intensity of it surprised him, even as a part of him - the scientist - merely stood on the sideline and watched. It was as if he was watching himself even as he was himself. A strange feeling.

The slam of a car door told him Sara was out too, but he didn't even look back to check.

If these boys wanted death so much, he could give it to them.

But strangely, his hand never went for his gun.

"What do you want?"

The boy who spoke looked to be the leader, slightly straighter in his pose, the air of command about him.

"Nice boots," Grissom replied, his voice strangely calm even to him. It had no emotion, it just was clear as glass. "Did you wear those when you killed James Rodriquez and shot Warrick Brown?"

The boy said nothing. He merely looked at Grissom and barred his teeth, like the death grin of a skull.

"Maybe you even kicked with those boots so that you had to wash off the blood afterwards. Here's the thing about blood though – you can wash off what you see, but the blood is still there."

There might have been a twitch in the boy's face, but the grin stayed on.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said loudly.

"You were the shooter too," Grissom went on. "You are a leader and not the kind to let one of them do something to top you. You left your lovely fingerprints all over that gun. Every action you took left one more piece of evidence I can nail you with."

"Think you know it all, do you?" the boy said calmly.  "Why did would I kill like that?"

"Because he was alive," Grissom said simply. The boy looked surprised. "He was alive and he was happy when you saw him, wasn't he? And you were unhappy and you hated yourself. You have always transferred that hatred onto anyone who is different from you. He was."

"No! You don't know *anything*! They're not human, they don't deserve life!" the boy screamed, reaching behind him and then pointing a black gun at Grissom with a hint of defiance.

"Drop it!" Sara's clear voice rang from behind.

"Girlfriend?" the boy snarled.

"Yes," Grissom replied calmly. "I would drop that gun, or she will shoot you. Are you ready to die as easily as you are to give death to others?"

The boy sneered, but a look of fear crossed his face and he seemed to shrink, becoming human. His hand trembled, but the gun stayed up.

"Drop it!" Sara called again. The boys shifted around their leader, looking more and more like young boys and less and less like death. They were human after all. The scientist in him had known; the hatred in him had not. A part of him still screamed for revenge and death returned, but it seemed to have moved out of him, now screaming from somewhere afar.

Distantly, sirens could be heard. Sara had to have used the radio and he silently commended her for staying calm.

"You drop it, or I'll kill him!" the boy called back to her, but now his arm was trembling wildly.

"Come on, let's just run," another boy whispered.

"No!"

The shot thundered against the sky just as the clouds opened again, and the rain fell glittering like tears.

******

Darkness came, ruled and started to fade.

The night seemed quiet even with the noise and nightlife of Las Vegas going about its usual business with the same vigour as always, even as the sun was about to rise. Life was short and people lived it, greeting every dawn as if it was just one more morning come about like a thousand others to come.

An illusion.

A necessity.

"He was just seventeen," Sara said, her voice dark. The group had gathered in one of the labs of CSI, the shift almost over and everyone showing the signs of a long night coming to an end.

"He was a killer," Catherine injected, her voice more compassionate than her words. She wanted to hate, Grissom could tell, but she couldn't.

"He was a kid," Nick muttered. "A kid killing a kid. The world sucks."

No one protested, and Grissom lifted his gaze from his hands to Sara. Her eyes were grieved and her shoulders slumped. He was glad she had not killed, but the image of the kid shooting himself would probably haunt them both.

A part of him felt satisfied, happy to seen death have death returned. The hatred still lurked somewhere inside as well, but it felt muted. He wanted to sleep and wake up with only the scientist in his head. Hatred was heavy. No wonder the boy had been unhappy, carrying such a burden.

"I'm outta here," Nick said abruptly and got up. "See you guys."

"Me too," Catherine added. "I'm gonna take some personal leave soon, Gil. To help Warrick with whatever he might need."

"Of course," Grissom said quietly and watched her leave. She looked pained, but perhaps bringing Warrick back to a normal life would bring some life to herself as well.

He felt Sara's eyes on him, questioning. He knew that she wondered, but he wasn't sure if he had the answers yet. He wasn't even sure what the questions were.

"Let's go home," he said, rising. She shook her head.

"We should talk."

"Yes," he agreed. "But not tonight. Tonight you're going to sleep in my bed and not have any nightmares about the dead that wake you up sweating."

She looked up sharply and he met her gaze. He wondered briefly if he should just let her go, let life be easy and pass all the days in the illusion that it was truly life.

But instead he held out his hand and she took it hesitantly.

"Let's go then," she said softly and smiled.

She leaned against him as they walked out into the fire of the sunrise, with the night dying all around them and the morning coming slowly to life. 

FINI