Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of the characters or storylines. I will
receive no profit for this piece of work, though I would like to.
Authors Note: Ok this is my first fanfic, I have been dying to write one for ages so I though I would give it a shot. Feed back would be really appreciated so that I know whether or not to continue. If I do it will be G/S.
The white walls of the corridor reflected the dull light from the overhead lamps chasing away all shadows that tried to creep in with the patients. At one end of the long corridor a pair of swinging doors moved silently open and shut as the barrage of people – doctors, nurses and gurneys, flooded through, their cacophony of noise drowning out the faint squeak of the doors, the screech as the wheels of gurneys struck the cream linoleum and the muted groans of the victims they bore.
Outside the doors, just to the side were four plastic chairs. Once white, they had slowly changed to a dirty grey as their years of service passed by. Over the time they had stood there to the side, they had held the waiting; the friends and families of the dying and sick. They had served as a comfort for the weary and sad and as a source of frustration release for those who couldn't sit and wait, calmly for answers. Their surfaces were marked with scratches and dents, black marks and smears of dirt, blood and tears. Though their recommended time of retirement had passed they still stood strong and silent, apostles of the hall, guarding the sacred place which lay beyond the doors.
It was here, in one apostle's arms that he sat. Gil Grissom. A man of knowledge, a man of certainty, a man.......lost. The washed out white of the walls did little to counter his appearance of a small, dishevelled figure lost within the great expanse of the hospital. The overpowering smells of bleach and disinfectant which assaulted his senses did little to make his expression change from the one of emptiness he wore. As the doors at the end of the corridor flew open and a fresh wave of sound penetrated the air Grissom's demeanour didn't change at all. So lost within his own thoughts was he, that even the one solitary fly that fought his way to the single drop of blood on the fall couldn't draw his interest.
He sat leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees his hands clasped, fingers linked, knuckles white as bone. His face was drawn and a colour just the pinker side of grey. His head hung forward, his eyes gazing a point just in front of his toes, yet a hundred miles away. He was still, still as stone. So still that had you asked any of the dozens of people who rushed through that corridor had they seen a man their answer would be no. No, they had seen no one. No one was there.
But had anyone stopped to look, had anyone gazed at him for just a minute they would have seen the tremors which shook his body, the way his eyes gazed unseeing into the floor and how the dried blood which marred his hands was beginning to flake. They would have seen a man who for all his knowledge knew not what to do, a man who was no longer certain of anything, a man who was by all appearances.... ...lost.
But he was not lost, but trapped within the guilt and fear and panic which swam through his veins as he saw over and over again the moment which had brought him to this place. Trapped in the instant he fell to his knees beside her prone figure, in the instant that he gathered up into his arms and the instant when her blood washed over his hands. Trapped in the moment he realised that the one thing he couldn't live without was her and all that she offered. The one thing he had always longed to experience. The one thing he couldn't see until it was too late.
Love.
Authors Note: Ok this is my first fanfic, I have been dying to write one for ages so I though I would give it a shot. Feed back would be really appreciated so that I know whether or not to continue. If I do it will be G/S.
The white walls of the corridor reflected the dull light from the overhead lamps chasing away all shadows that tried to creep in with the patients. At one end of the long corridor a pair of swinging doors moved silently open and shut as the barrage of people – doctors, nurses and gurneys, flooded through, their cacophony of noise drowning out the faint squeak of the doors, the screech as the wheels of gurneys struck the cream linoleum and the muted groans of the victims they bore.
Outside the doors, just to the side were four plastic chairs. Once white, they had slowly changed to a dirty grey as their years of service passed by. Over the time they had stood there to the side, they had held the waiting; the friends and families of the dying and sick. They had served as a comfort for the weary and sad and as a source of frustration release for those who couldn't sit and wait, calmly for answers. Their surfaces were marked with scratches and dents, black marks and smears of dirt, blood and tears. Though their recommended time of retirement had passed they still stood strong and silent, apostles of the hall, guarding the sacred place which lay beyond the doors.
It was here, in one apostle's arms that he sat. Gil Grissom. A man of knowledge, a man of certainty, a man.......lost. The washed out white of the walls did little to counter his appearance of a small, dishevelled figure lost within the great expanse of the hospital. The overpowering smells of bleach and disinfectant which assaulted his senses did little to make his expression change from the one of emptiness he wore. As the doors at the end of the corridor flew open and a fresh wave of sound penetrated the air Grissom's demeanour didn't change at all. So lost within his own thoughts was he, that even the one solitary fly that fought his way to the single drop of blood on the fall couldn't draw his interest.
He sat leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees his hands clasped, fingers linked, knuckles white as bone. His face was drawn and a colour just the pinker side of grey. His head hung forward, his eyes gazing a point just in front of his toes, yet a hundred miles away. He was still, still as stone. So still that had you asked any of the dozens of people who rushed through that corridor had they seen a man their answer would be no. No, they had seen no one. No one was there.
But had anyone stopped to look, had anyone gazed at him for just a minute they would have seen the tremors which shook his body, the way his eyes gazed unseeing into the floor and how the dried blood which marred his hands was beginning to flake. They would have seen a man who for all his knowledge knew not what to do, a man who was no longer certain of anything, a man who was by all appearances.... ...lost.
But he was not lost, but trapped within the guilt and fear and panic which swam through his veins as he saw over and over again the moment which had brought him to this place. Trapped in the instant he fell to his knees beside her prone figure, in the instant that he gathered up into his arms and the instant when her blood washed over his hands. Trapped in the moment he realised that the one thing he couldn't live without was her and all that she offered. The one thing he had always longed to experience. The one thing he couldn't see until it was too late.
Love.