A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. Since I've completed my move to Las Vegas, I'm finding a number of other, um…diversions to occupy my time. J
Spoilers: Unfriendly Skies
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"What do you want?" Grissom asked calmly. He hoped his composed demeanor would help to defuse the situation. He cursed himself for once again failing to carry his weapon.
"I don't know!" the assailant sputtered. "Just give me a minute to think."
Great, Grissom thought to himself, a lunatic with a knife and a fluid agenda. Stay cool. He's not rational, so you have to be. "I doubt killing me would help your situation in any way."
"Why couldn't you guys just mind your own business? Jesus, first that other guy, now you. Fucking Grand Central Terminal out here!" He remained behind Grissom, his right arm holding the knife to the criminalist's neck and left arm around Grissom's chest.
"Three people lost their lives," Grissom said, keeping his voice even. "It's our job to figure out what happened."
"In a minute, it's gonna be four."
"Put down the knife," a familiar voice commanded from the darkness. Sara, her service weapon drawn, quickly became visible as she stepped closer. She grabbed her cell phone from its place on her belt and used the speed dial function to reach Brass. When she had arrived at the crime scene, she needed to find out exactly what Grissom wanted her to do, so she had asked Nick for Grissom's whereabouts. Nick hadn't been very helpful, "I don't know. He was in the kitchen. Maybe he went out back." She was stunned to find Grissom being threatened by a homicidal maniac.
"Who are you calling?" the suspect demanded. "Put away the phone!"
Grissom spoke up as Sara waited for Brass to answer at the other end of the line. "You can't win this…I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Jeff. Jeff Ro—What the hell am I telling you for?" Recognizing his mistake, he became more angry and agitated.
Grissom continued coolly, "As I was saying, Jeff, you can't win this. Just do as she says before you make things worse for yourself."
Sara slammed the telephone shut and replaced it on her belt. "He's right. You can't win. In a few minutes, you're going to see cops everywhere."
"Sidle," Grissom beseeched, "take it easy. Another shooting and you could lose your job."
Sara was momentarily taken aback. Sidle? Another shooting? What the hell is he talking about? Then she realized what Grissom was trying to do. She had always believed herself incapable of killing anyone, but Jeff didn't need to know that. If he thought that she was trigger-happy, he may be more prone to surrender. She readjusted her grip on her gun and pointed it directly at Jeff's chest. "I told you to drop the knife."
"If you drop the gun, I'll drop the knife," Jeff offered. "But you've got to give me a head start."
"No deal," Sara responded firmly and shook her head. "If I drop the gun, you've got no reason to honor your end of the bargain. Give me one reason why I shouldn't drop you." She prayed her bluff would work. She couldn't kill a man. Or could she? If she had to choose between Grissom's life and this demented stranger's, could she? She would have to get a clean shot, not an easy task with the perpetrator essentially using Grissom as a shield.
Grissom listened intently, in agreement so far with Sara's handling of his predicament. She once said she could never take a life, he remembered, but the circumstances she was referring to were completely different. That man on that airplane didn't need to die. If he couldn't be calmed, he needed only to have been subdued or restrained. The passengers on the "shoe bomber's" flight had proven Sara correct a couple of years later. This situation was another matter, but Grissom still doubted Sara would shoot to kill. Perhaps she could wound him, though.
"You don't want to do this, Jeff," Grissom said. "It doesn't have to end like this. Just put down the knife."
"No! Shut up!"
"I'll do it, Jeff," Sara warned. "I don't want to, but I will. I'm not going to let you hurt my friend."
Jeff's hands were shaking noticeably now, and beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. Sara wondered whether he was stoned or withdrawing. In any case, he was dangerously unstable. Of course he's unstable, Sidle! He's very likely the person who killed three people, including an infant.
Responding to something apparently only he could hear, Jeff panicked. As the knife blade made contact with Grissom's throat, Sara got a clear shot on Jeff's right shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Jeff dropped the knife and grabbed his shoulder, howling in pain and surprise. He turned to flee, but two uniformed officers ran up and tackled him.
Sara rushed to Grissom's side. The entomologist had fallen to his knees upon hearing the loud crack of the handgun. She gasped when she noticed the spattering of blood on his neck. "It's not mine," Grissom tried to allay her fears. "Well, most of it isn't."
"Did he cut you?" she asked worriedly, examining him for injury.
"Just a scratch. I'm all right, really."
"Jesus, what's going on out here?" Nick stooped next to them, out of breath from his sprint from the house.
"That guy," Sara pointed, "almost killed Grissom!" She took several deeps breaths in an attempt to slow her racing heartbeat.
Nick paled when he recognized Jeff. "I know that guy…" he began, and then reasoned that perhaps disclosure wasn't the best idea at the moment. "Uh, are you okay, Grissom?"
"I'll be fine," Grissom attempted to reassure both Nick and Sara. "Sara got here in time."
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Sara sat in the opened back hatch of the crime lab's SUV, the reality of the last thirty minutes slowly seeping in as the adrenaline rush waned. She shivered involuntarily in the cool night air. Had she really shot a human being? A wave of nausea passed over her.
"Here, you look like you could use this," Jim Brass said softly, draping a blanket over her shoulders. He handed her a cup of coffee. "How ya holding up?"
Sara shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
"You did what you had to do, you know. You saved your colleague. And Robinson's gonna be fine. He be out of the hospital and in the lock-up in a few days."
"And probably back out on the streets in a few years," Sara added sourly.
"Well, with three homicides and an attack on a law enforcement officer under his belt, I hope we can do better than that." Brass flashed her a friendly smile.
Sara stared at the ground for a few moments before responding. "It's just, well, I've never shot anyone before, you know? I'm not sure what to do with it."
"I know," Brass nodded. "But trust a veteran: You didn't do anything wrong. You'll be okay. It just takes some time. And the guy's gonna recover."
Sara's eyes were filled with gratitude when she looked up at him. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "Is Grissom still with the paramedics?"
"Oh, yeah," Brass rolled his eyes. "He's giving them hell. He's pretty miffed that they're fussing so much over him when all he's got is a little cut. So how about you? How many days do you left?"
"Two," Sara said quietly, holding up two fingers.
TBC
