Title: Bright Lights; Dig City Author: Jayke Manners

Category: Drama / Angst

Spoilers: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or it's Characters. If I did Mr Will would be at the mercy of mine. (Bring the handcuffs CSI man)

Summary: Casefile / Angst / GS

This is getting really harder to write, mainly because I want to stay true to the story. Feel free to offer your thoughts. But bear with me if it takes a couple days to update. Yowza!

Swearing and nasty things ahead so be warned…

Only a few TINY changes in this repost but I feel better now…

THIRTY – SIX

"What?" The disbelief, the icy hatred flowed into Sara's voice and fell upon Corbett like a cold fog.

Corbett's lip curled into a satisfied grin, he had her on the run. He chose to ignore the question, she'd heard him well enough.

"Do you like riddles, Sara?" he asked. "I've got a great one." He pushed at the pile of photographs, delicate fingers quickly arranging them into two uneven stacks as he spoke. Just as Grissom had done a few hours before, the pictures were separated by type – all the 'golden girls' in one, the 'assortment' falling haphazardly in the other. Corbett glanced up, eyes dancing with anticipation. "I'll even give you a prize if you guess the answer," he goaded. His finger drifted to the space between the two decks and tapped at the table. "I'll tell you about this girl. That's why you're here, isn't it Miss Sidle? This is the one…"

Sara swallowed, anger and fear clenched between her teeth with a ferocity she had almost forgotten. The numbness, the lack of feeling that had seeped through her for months, was being washed away with every passing moment. She had entered this room prepared… for what? To kill? To die? It wasn't a question she could answer. She really hadn't cared. As Sara walked through that door, the only promise she'd made herself was that either way, Corbett was going down with her.

Sara had lived with fear for so long, now it was simply a part of her existence. Ever since that night…

She'd been so close to home, only a few feet from her doorstep, God she was tired. She could remember trudging through the leaves on the sidewalk, pulling her feet unwillingly forward and thinking only of a nice hot bath and the comfort of her bed. It had taken a long time to remember that the crackling sound – the one she heard late at night, or falling asleep to the first rays of light in the morning – was that of a stun-gun, it was the sound of the beginning… and the end.

She jerked at the memory, drawing a quick gasp and pushing it from her, as if she might send the thought into the air along with her breath. Sara looked down at her hands, noting that their trembling had ceased.

Everything had ceased.

It felt as though the world outside had simply stopped, as if waiting on this moment and those to follow, before deciding upon the way life might continue.

When Sara finally looked back into Corbett's eyes, her face was cast in shadow, darker than the blackness that settled into the corners of the room. "Try me," she said.

Corbett hesitated, noting the subtle change. His eyes narrowed; perhaps there was fight left in her yet. The thought gave him a strange, quiet pleasure. He leaned forward, so that she had to bow down slightly to hear him. "Before I tell you the riddle," he whispered, "there's something you should know…"

Sara's brow furrowed but she remained silent, her chin lifting slightly as if ready to take a blow.

"We're not all getting out of this one alive," he said.

THIRTY-SEVEN

When Brass entered the room, Grissom was bent over his desk, back toward the door and hands digging into the wood with such force that it might snap at any moment. He didn't hear the door as Brass closed it behind him, and the detective spoke three times before the words finally broke through.

"Grissom. Grissom! Gil!"

Grissom didn't move. His back stiffened, his words barely audible as they drifted across the room. "You son of a bitch," he uttered.

"I told you Grissom, you didn't want…" he didn't have time to finish.

Grissom swung around and stormed toward Brass, practically knocking the man backwards with sheer fury – it was a testimony to Jim that he managed to stand his ground.

"You fucking bastard!" Grissom yelled. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? I had a right to know!"

"Hey!" Brass held up a hand, ramming it into Grissom's chest as Gil descended, grabbing Jim by the collar with both fists, shaking him with each word as he screamed, "You son of a bitch why didn't you tell me?"

Jim stood solid, equalling the man's strength with his own, "You think you had a right?" Brass' disbelief was blatant. "It wasn't mine to tell Gil!"

"Don't give me that shit," Grissom was shaking, his hands gripping Jim's collar like a lifeline. "You should've come to me…"

"Bullshit!" Brass almost spat the words out. "Who d'you think you're kidding Gil? You knew. You knew something was wrong, you were just too fucking gutless to go to her." His hand clenched into a fist on Grissom's chest, now he was the one pushing back, almost holding the man up as he wavered uneasily. "What'd you think, it was all just about you? The drinking, the triple shifts… She wore a cap for three fucking weeks Gil! And you do nothing but stare at her from across the room! You think if you turn the other way you can make it all disappear? You think you can just ignore what's right in front of you and everything'll be ok?" He stopped, the anger and frustration at his friend compounding the burden he'd been carrying for over a year. "Sara tried to tell you, to get you to see… But you wouldn't even meet her half way. She tried so hard and you just… and you think you had a right?"

Brass shook his head, easing his grip as Grissom slowly backed away, only stopping when his legs hit the desk. He leaned down onto it, the realization of what he had done finally sinking in. He thought back to the day Sara had returned from leave. He'd noticed instantly. The heavy make-up, the CSI cap she usually took off inside remaining firmly on her head. The way she'd turn her face to the side when she spoke to him, or bow away, talking from beneath the cover of darkness. He'd known something was terribly wrong, but when he asked, casually over a DB in the gutter - she was fine. Of course she was, just tired that's all. Not really a holiday. Where'd she go? Nowhere much…

He stared blankly at Jim, who was no longer angry, no longer frustrated, just terribly sad. The utter uselessness of it all.

"I never… I didn't think…" Grissom let the words fall, acquiescent.

Brass sighed, "I know buddy. I know."

The two remained quiet for a while, the only sound in the room that of Grissom's ragged breathing. Finally he spoke, "Can you give me ride?"

Brass smiled ruefully, hoping that Grissom was ready for the reality the next few hours might bring. "Not yet pal," he answered. "You gotta pull it together, there's been a development with the DNA results from the locker…"

Grissom looked up, interrupting and not caring how it sounded, "Jim I really don't care…"

"Trust me," Jim cut him off. "You will."