Disclaimer: My raise this year gives me an extra 3 grand that wasn't budgeted...do you think they'd sell CSI to me for that much?
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy, I didn't make you wait too long. I love Friday! I managed to get home from work with enough time to play with my little girl for 3 hours before she had to go to bed, and I got picked to do lab work this rotation, which is one of my favorite rotations. I was wishing for patrol, but after the heat of the last few days, the last thing I want to do is wear a thick, heavy, stuffy suit and be out in the heat. Yuck.
I'm hoping to have another chapter out this weekend, since it's my weekend off. I'm interested in what you guys think, and I'm grateful for the response I've gotten so far! Sorry about the last cliffhanger, this time I won't leave you like that. Thanks for your support and confidence in my writing, I feel so warm and fuzzy inside.
Jenny
Three:
Sara walked into the hallway, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the brightly lit ballroom to the dimly lit corridor. "Greg?" She called out, hoping the other CSI would answer her rather quickly, she was too exhausted to check each of the rooms on the floor.
A muffled yell caught her attention, and her hand immediately went to her hip, where she kept her gun secured, her eyes and ears perking up for clues as to what was going on.
The unmistakable thud of someone being pushed against the wall came flowing through the hallway, and Sara began to quietly creep through the corridor, her weapon now in her hands. The scuffle was coming from the first room on the left, which she remembered Grissom pointing out as the custodial closet.
Weapon drawn, she kicked the door open, her eyes widening and her heart racing as she saw Greg pressed against the wall, a gun pushed roughly against his forehead, his face already bloodied with a broken nose.
"Put your weapon down." Sara instructed, her voice strong, although her insides were shaking. She gripped her gun tighter, thankful she had drawn her weapon before entering, and said again, this time louder, "Las Vegas Police, drop your weapon, now."
Greg's captor pushed his gun harder against Greg's temple, causing him to wince with pain. "Drop your gun or your friend gets it." He said, his voice cold and daring. "No funny business."
Sara stared at the gun, then at the man holding it. She studied his face, tan and thin, with dark brown hair, nearly 200 pounds, give or take a few. She memorized his tattoos, the scars on his hands and face, the clothes he was wearing, and then said forcefully, "This isn't what you want to do. Put down your weapon, and we'll walk away like this never happened."
"I hate cops." the man spat, tightening the grip he held on Greg's arm, anger evident in his face, "You don't know what I want! If I don't shoot you, both of you, we'll walk out of this room and you will arrest me. I'm not stupid, I watch TV. Now put down your gun, or I'll blow his brains out!"
Sara's voice was now soothing, as she lowered her gun and took a hesitant step towards him, "We're not cops, we are crime scene analyzers. We just gather the evidence, we won't arrest you. My coworker here is just trying to gather some evidence so we can go home, it's been a long day. I'm sure you can agree, right?"
"But you work with the cops, you carry a gun!" The man said after a few seconds of hesitation, "Put down your gun, I told you already! I'll kill him, I don't care, I'll kill him!"
Sara shook her head, "If you shoot him, or me, the police will arrest you and possibly kill you. If you let us go, we can work something out. Once you fire your gun, though, there's nothing we can do to help you."
The man let his grip on Greg slack for a second, obviously having second thoughts as he pictured the LVPD firing at him as he tried to escape. Greg, seizing the opportunity, kicked the man in the shin, his fist hitting the man's face as he lunged forward. He came back from his injury quickly, hitting the side of Greg's face with the butt of his gun, grabbing him and pushing him back against the wall, "Now you're asking for it, kid."
"Let him go." Sara said, her voice now threatening as anger flooded her veins. She hated to see people bully each other, and now that her best friend was on the receiving end of some nasty blows, all thoughts of compromises were gone. "Put your weapon down, or I'll shoot."
Greg stared at the man holding him against the wall, his body shaking, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. The pressure from the gun in his temple was giving him a nasty headache, and by his woozy feeling, he was sure he had a concussion. He saw the man's trigger finger twitch slightly, and his eyes flew to Sara, who had obviously noticed it as well. Things were going from bad to worse, and Greg knew someone was about to dieprobably him or Sara. She had once sworn she could never kill anyone, and he was now scanning his brain, wondering if that was actually true, if she'd let this maniac shoot him before firing her weapon.
He applied a little more pressure to Greg's temple, and Greg's vision started to fade in and out. This was it, he was going to die. The throbbing in his head was starting to be too much to bear, and he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep himself on his feet, it was taking all of his energy to keep himself from passing out. As the world went black, he heard a single gunshot.
Sara watched as Greg's eyes started to roll upwards, his face as white as snow, and she ordered his attacker to surrender his weapon. As his finger started to twitch, she took a deep breath and fired her gun, not willing to risk losing Greg. She shut her eyes tightly, firing a second, third, and fourth time, until she lost the grip on her gun and fell to the floor, her eyes still shut, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her head in them, afraid to open her eyes, afraid to admit what she had just done.
Seconds later, the hallway and custodial closet was busy with officers, paramedics, and the remaining CSI's. To Sara, though, the voices and shouts were miles away, almost like they were in a completely separate building, as she curled into a tighter ball. Did she hit Greg's attacker? Did she wound him, kill him? What if she had shot and hit Greg? What if he had fired a round before he died and killed her friend? Her breathing started to become more and more shallow as all sorts of scenarios played out in her mind. Pushing the palms of her hands hard against her eyes, she fought the tears that she knew were going to come, and tried to work up the courage to look at what she had done.
Catherine and Nick had been in the ballroom, still going over evidence, when they heard gunfire in the hallway. Nick sprinted towards the doorway, glancing over his shoulder and calling out to Catherine, "Go get Brass, I'll check it out."
"Be careful!" Catherine called out as Nick stopped by the door, drawing his own gun and stepping into the hallway.
Nick entered the hall and was met with the metallic scent of blood. "Sara? Greg?" He called out, getting no response. Fear gripped his chest and he slowly made his way down the corridor, every few feet checking his back to make sure the assailant wasn't sneaking up behind him. It didn't take long to find the scene of the second murder.
The doorway was open, and Nick slowly walked in, his gun held in both hands, surveying the scene before him. Against the back wall, Greg laid slumped against the wall, his face battered and bloody, unconscious, although Nick couldn't tell why without looking him over more carefully. Next to him laid someone Nick didn't know, blood oozing out of his still body, where Nick could clearly see at least 3 bullet holes. He studied the man for a moment, seeing that he wasn't breathing, and walked over to him, grabbing his wrist to check for a pulse. Finding a weak one, he turned to see Sara, huddled in the corner of the room, her gun on the floor a foot or so away from her, her knees drawn to her chest, rocking herself back and forth gently.
Nick walked over to her, kneeling down beside her, "Sara?"
Getting no response, he bolted back into the hallway, where Catherine, Brass, and a few of his men were rushing over, "Get some medics!" He called out, "We're in here!"
Soon, the small room was full of people, the unknown criminal being loaded on a stretcher, the paramedics shouting tons of medical jargon that only they really understood, some different paramedics loading Greg onto one, telling Catherine he would be taken to Desert Palm, and it more didn't seem to be more than a few broken facial bones and a concussion. He had already started to regain consciousness as they wheeled him towards the elevator.
Catherine glanced over to where Nick was kneeling by Sara, worry evident on his face. She had not yet uncurled herself, nor was she responding to Nick in any way. She was whispering softly to herself, although neither Nick nor Catherine could understand exactly what she was saying.
"Come on, Sar, we need to go to the hospital." Nick said gently, his hand on her back, "We need to get you looked at and check on Greg."
Sara refused to meet his eye, although she did allow herself to be pulled to her feet, her lip trembling, "I don't need to be looked at, he didn't touch me."
"I'd still feel better about everything if they just checked you over." Nick insisted, "You don't look well."
Sara shook her head, still staring at the floor, swaying a bit as she saw the blood pooled on the tile, a puddle that seemed to be a lot larger than one person could bleed in such a small amount of time. "I'm fine. I want to see Greg. Is he okay?"
"I think so." Nick replied, "We'll go see him, okay?"
"But first I need to ask you a few questions about what happened." Brass said, his tone gentle, yet serious. "Strictly procedure, Sara, we're not saying you did anything wrong, I just need a statement."
"Can't we do this at the hospital, we all want to go check in on Greg." Nick said softly to Brass, his tone flat, "There's really nothing requiring us to stay here, right? Don't you want to see how he's doing?"
"Of course I do, the kid's part of the team." Brass replied, "We'll continue this at the hospital, but it does need to get done tonight, you hear me?"
Sara nodded silently, her eyes still on the pool of blood. She asked quietly, "Is he alive?"
"Barely." Nick replied, leading her away from the small room, "You got him real good, Sara, 4 times in the chest, from what I could see. Are you okay?"
Sara shook her head, allowing him to lead her down the hall, "I...I feel so numb. I can't believe I shot him. I can't believe this is happening."
"That's a normal reaction, Sara." Nick replied, moving his hand from her back to her shoulder, "It's going to be okay, Sara, you'll start to feel better about it. Just think of what he could have done to you or Greg. It was self defense, I'm sure."
Sara nodded, taking a deep breath of fresh air as they exited the hotel, "If he would have shot Greg, we would all be saying what an awful person he is. I shot him, but you're saying I did the right thing, and that he's still an awful person. That doesn't make any sense."
"He was an awful person. He threatened hurt you and Greg, you were just protecting yourself, and Greg. That's not the same thing, not even slightly. You can't look at this black and white, Sara, you've got to see the grey."
Warrick and Grissom had been speaking with the Governor's personal assistant when the call came through. Warrick had stayed to finish questioning the assistant, who's name was Theodore, while Grissom took the call in the hallway.
"Grissom."
"Gil, it's Catherine."
Her voice was shaky, and Grissom immediately knew something was wrong. Fear gripped his chest as he asked, "What happened? Are you alright?"
"It's Greg," she paused, "and Sara. There was an incident...they think Greg's going to be okay, a broken nose, maybe a broken cheekbone and a concussion. Sara's fine." Another pause. "But you should meet us in the Emergency Room at Desert Palm."
"I'm in the Triage 3 waiting room right now, we're just finishing up with the Governor's assistant, we'll meet you in the front waiting area." Grissom replied, "What happened?"
Catherine's voice was raspy, as if she was trying to hide tears, "One of our suspects roughed up Greg a bit, Sara shot him. He's in critical condition, probably coming into the Emergency Room as we speak. Brass is going to question Sara, and while I don't think she's in any trouble, it would be a good idea to have a supervisor present."
"I'm on my way." Grissom replied, snapping his phone shut and looking up as Warrick exited the cubicle, "We need to get up front, there was an incident at the Bellagio, another incident, they're bringing Greg in."
"Catherine?" Warrick asked, his face paling and his eyes wide, "Is Cath okay?"
Grissom nodded, giving Warrick a reassuring pat on the arm, "She's fine, I just talked to her. Only Sara and Greg were involved. She wants us to meet her up front, they should be here shortly."
Sara remained silent as she and Nick walked to the car that Catherine had pulled around. Climbing into the backseat, she rested her head against the window, sadness, anger, and disgust flooding her body as she fought the tears that were so eager to break free.
She had always hated guns, guns killed people. An ex-boyfriend had always replied with "Guns don't kill people, people kill people." She had always retorted, "And when they do, I'll find enough evidence to put them away for life." Now, the tables were turned. Sure, he had pressed a gun to Greg's head and had roughed up the younger CSI a bit, but he had been frightened. The rational part of her brain was screaming at her, telling her Greg was frightened too, but he wasn't spraying bullets everywhere. Sara had been frightened as well, frightened enough to pull the trigger, frightened enough to put someone else's life in jeopardy.
She had never been as terrified as she was when she saw Greg against the wall, a gun to his head. It was an image she'd probably never forget, but what was just as terrifying was the blood on the floor, blood she had caused, blood that resulted from bullets from her gun. She was a murderer, no better than the scum she helped pull off the streets every day.
For Sara Sidle, tonight, there was no grey area, just black and white, right and wrong, life and death. And on the short ride to Desert Palm, the tears
started to flow.
TBC
