Warning: This story is PG-13 for a reason. I don't think it needs to go higher but if it does, please someone let me know, andI will bump it up. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: All right everyone, sing along… "I don't own CSI, its characters, or anything associated with the show. CSI: Crime Scene Investigation is the sole property of CBS and Alliance Atlantis." This document was written purely based on the fact that my muse will not stop nagging me. For the entertainment of you folks only.
Spoiler: Nesting Dolls, Butterflied, Snakes, and I'll leave it up to you to guess the last one.
A/N: I wanted to post all three at once b/c IMHO, they fill in the gaps and allow me to start actually writing a story. This chapter brings us to when Sara will return to work. Next chapter, if you'd all want me to keep writing, is from Sara's POV, purely b/c she is going to interact with everyone and Grissom can't be around for all of that. All comments are appreciated.
He was walking down the hallway to Sara's apartment. It was very dark; a light must be out in her hallway. He turned on his flashlight. He would tell her to have the superintendent fix it once he saw her.
He had to see her. He kept walking but he didn't see her door. He turned and noticed the footprints on the carpet. It was the wrong carpet. He had seen this before; this was Debbie Marlin's house. He looked down and sure enough, he had on booties. Why was he here? Where was Sara?
He walked to the end of the hallway to the bathroom, and the door was open. Debbie Marlin was there, again, laying in a pool of blood, the small butterfly tattoo clearly visible. He focused on the butterfly, noticing its wings move gently back and forth. It really was quite pretty and he thought for a moment to identify it. Wait, the butterfly is moving?
He had to get out of here. He knew this was not where Sara was. That was Debbie Marlin, not Sara. Sara was alive. He knew it. He had to find her.
He turned and Sara was behind him. He jumped back, startled. Her hands were dripping blood, but the rest of her was spotless. She was dressed in white, but he had no idea what she was wearing. She was crying and mumbling something he couldn't understand. It sounded like she was saying she murdered a butterfly.
"What happened Sara? Why are you here?" He went to reach for her, but she disappeared and he was in his office.
Piles of paperwork were surrounding him, falling on him, almost smothering him, and he heard Sara's voice. He struggled over the paperwork and she was there in the office doorway, again in white and dripping blood from her hands. It was leaving drops all over the floor. A nightgown. She was wearing a child's nightgown.
"I'm sorry. I look for validation in inappropriate places. I have to go."
"No wait! Sara! Don't go."
He got up and chased her down the lab, following the drops of blood. She was always just turning a corner, out of his reach. It seemed like he followed her forever until finally, he was in her hallway again. It was still too dark.
He saw her door. It was open so he went inside. It reeked of blood and Sara. She had to be here. He looked down and saw a trail of footprints in blood on the floor. They led to her bedroom. He looked up and he was overwhelmed by the sight. Blood spatter was everywhere. On the walls, on her sofa, on the books on the coffee table. This wasn't right. He stepped back and was against her door. It was closed. He went to reach for the handle but it wasn't there.
Sara came walking out from her bedroom and into the living room, her hands almost glowing crimson.
"Sara, what happened? Where did all of this blood come from?"
"I lost my temper. I crossed the line… I was insubordinate..."
Sara stepped closer and he saw the knife in her hands. It was gleaming silver and flashed as she shifted it in her hands. He began to panic.
"Sara… whose blood is this?"
"You were wrong Gil. There is a murder gene."
"Sara… WHOSE BLOOD IS THIS?"
"It's yours."
The world turned upside down and he saw himself lying on her floor. Deep stab wounds peppered his chest and abdomen, and there was mortal slash across his throat. He was gasping, dying, and Sara stood over him, glaring at him, blood running down her arms and clashing with the white of her gown and her pale skin. She raised the knife over her head...
He screamed.
Gil woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, his pupils dilated, his breathing rapid.
A nightmare. He'd had a nightmare.
He squinted at the digital display on the alarm clock by his bed. 10:43 a.m. He hadn't gotten much sleep. He would need to take a sleeping pill in order to get some rest before work.
He sniffed, his nose was running. He hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold. He couldn't afford to take any time off of work the next two weeks, it was crucial that he be there for Sara.
He looked down at his pillow… and saw blood.
His mind hadn't forgotten the imagery of his dream, and he promptly freaked out, leaping out of his bed with a small "Aaah!"
He sniffed again and wiped his nose. Gross.
He looked at his hand, and it was covered in blood. Oh, bloody nose. He got those occasionally. That explained the metallic tang in the air.
Gil walked to the bathroom to clean himself up, his mind clearing and his pulse returning to normal.
Thursday had finally arrived. Sara returned to work tonight.
His dreams betrayed him; he was worried about her return. He knew he needed to tell her about his conversation with Ecklie, and he also had to "take disciplinary action". He had an idea, and if he was right, it would help both Sara and him.
But doubt still nagged him. She needed to be rational, calm and patient for this to work properly, and he wasn't sure how she was going to be tonight.
He hadn't spoken to her since he left her apartment. He was too afraid to call her. This didn't bode well for tonight since he would have to speak with her, face to face.
He opened up his medicine cabinet and took out the sleeping pills. The past week had been moderate with regards to new cases, and he had caught up on some of the paperwork overflowing his desk. He had a new appreciation for Sophia and Greg; they had worked hard to carry the load.
He swallowed two small pills and returned to his bed. He put the soiled pillow in his hamper; he'd take care of that later.
He grabbed the pillow from the other half of the bed, noticing how new it felt compared to his pillow, and tried to get some sleep. Eventually it overcame him, but it was a long time coming.