Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, and I don't have any possessions worth litigation.
Summary: A killer with angelic aspirations visits Vegas, forcing several of the CSIs to confront their own demons. Written as a possible S5 finale (before the spoilers came out.) Some violence, language, and sexual implications. And oh yes, GSR.
Spoilers: Season 5
Credits: While real life precluded her actual co-writing with me as we intended, Rokothepas was integral and deserves much credit. She insists on not being a co-author, but it should be noted many of the ideas, logic, interpretations and twists were all hers and I wouldn't have thought of them in a million years. Not to mention her endless support ultimately meant this story got finished. Thank you Roko!
Notes: Action!Grissom. Hee.

I'm posting the last 2 chapters simultaneously, because Ch. 8 is an epilogue and you guys have been very patient...

Azrael's Wings

7

Fortification

Ecklie watched incredulously as first Grissom ran past his office and then a pack consisting of Brass, Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Sofia followed close behind. He managed to get out in the hall just behind Sofia.

"Hey!" he shouted.

Brass paused long enough to bark at Catherine. "I'm going. You guys stay here. I mean it. Stall him." He motioned towards Ecklie, then ran after Grissom, snapping open his phone and barking orders. "I want at least three units. No sirens, I repeat, no sirens, do you understand?"

Catherine made a face, faltered, and stopped. Ecklie had Sofia's arm in his grasp.

Catherine took one look at Nick and Warrick and made a decision. She looked at Sofia.

"Sofia will brief you, Conrad." Sofia looked resigned…angry, but resigned. Catherine turned to Nick and Warrick. "Let's go."

When they got to the parking lot, Grissom and Brass' vehicles were already gone. They piled into the SUV, Warrick shaking his head at Catherine. He got in the driver's seat, Catherine ran to the other side, and Nick jumped in behind Warrick.

"Hurry, Warrick." Nick managed to croak.

"I intend to." Warrick replied.

Grissom concentrated on driving. He fought to stifle a sheer panic of a degree he'd never felt as he drove uncharacteristically fast and mercilessly through traffic.

He tried to force himself to think logically. There was a very good chance that Weisman would not be at the apartment. Maybe he'd rented it just for a killing, although that made little sense. Why would he stay there if he had a body on the premises? It was bound to be noticed sooner or later.

Because he's crazy. Because he's subconsciously tired of the whole mess and by setting a trap for law enforcement he can end it, Grissom thought.

That had been his initial reaction and still was, and when Brass had uttered Fromansky's name he just had a strong intuition that something was very, very wrong. Grissom had never put much stock in intuition, of course, but in the short time he'd been with Sara he had discovered he was occasionally capable of it, and more surprisingly, it usually helped.

He wondered where his intuition had been when he'd initially sent them to the scene. The thought of the decomp being related to the case hadn't even crossed his mind. He fought to push away the temptation to beat himself up about it, for now. He had few precious minutes to evaluate and there was no point wasting it on guilt. Guilt could always wait, he knew far too well.

He had no idea what he'd do when he got there. He glanced in his rearview mirror, figuring Brass would have caught up to him by now, but he saw nothing. He hoped Catherine and the others would have the sense to stay behind, but he doubted it. Grissom concluded his best bet, if he had to go into a dangerous situation, was to go in alone if Brass didn't make it on time. If Catherine and the guys were behind them, they needed to keep them safe and keep them out.

He went over logistics, tactical possibilities, and legalities in his mind. Much as he tried, he couldn't keep the thought of losing Sara out. Of course he was concerned about Greg. He didn't think he could forgive himself for the loss of any of his friends. But the thought of losing Sara was a staggering shock he could barely wrap his mind around.

After all they had been through, all he had tried to make right, and the level of happiness he'd achieved that was beyond what he thought possible, Grissom found he could not even consider an existence without her.

Which was of course why he'd resisted the relationship for years in the first place. Ironic now that some random evil was the threat that could take her away, and not his own shortcomings like he'd always thought would be the case.

I would fight an army for her, he realized. I would die for her, not because I couldn't live without her, but because I'd rather she live than me, given the choice.

He almost missed the exit, squealing over to the off-ramp and causing chaos in the traffic behind him. Moments later he saw the apartment complex looming, and after a few frantic turns in the maze of parking lots, located the building. He spotted Sara and Greg's SUV and pulled in next to it, scanning the doors above on the second floor. Fromansky's patrol car was nowhere to be seen. Grissom was not surprised, and fought away more guilt.

He drew his gun at the top of the stairs and went to the door, which was ajar. He confirmed the number on the apartment as correct, and without moving the door, carefully looked inside. He was thankful for the open door and the overhead light being on inside.

All he could see initially was the looming back of Eric Weisman. Grissom squeezed around the door very carefully into the entryway and turned slightly, raising his weapon. Only then did he realize Weisman was holding a gun.

He was pointing it at Sara, who stood across the room about seven feet from him. Greg lay on the floor to Sara's left. He looked stunned, but otherwise unhurt. His eyes were on the gunman, as were Sara's. Sara was pointing her own gun at Weisman.

"I always found philosophy overrated." Sara said, seemingly in response to Weisman.

"How about theology, then?" Weisman said smoothly.

Grissom put a finger to his lips and stepped silently to one side of Weisman's back, where he was momentarily in Sara and Greg's line of sight. He prayed silently that they wouldn't give him away with their eyes or any other reactions.

Greg blinked twice without taking his eyes off Weisman.

"Theology is like breakfast," Sara stated calmly. "You need it whether you want it or not. If you're lucky, someone is willing to remind you of that."

Grissom fought back a smile, so she wouldn't smile back, and thought about how he'd cajoled her to eat her eggs earlier. It seemed like an awfully long time ago. He thought at that instant she was the bravest and smartest person he'd ever met.

He signed to her quickly to hit the deck when he gave the signal, and stepped back behind Weisman, out of her line of sight. He risked a long sideways glance out the door, but Brass was still nowhere in sight. Not surprising. Grissom guessed it had been just over a minute since he'd gotten to the door.

He knew he had no choice. All he could hope for was that Weisman would spin around towards him, gun still up, so it would be a clean shoot. Hopefully Weisman's weapon wouldn't discharge until Sara was out of the line of fire.

Grissom took a deep breath, then roared. "Drop the weapon!"

Weisman spun immediately. Thankfully he went counter-clockwise, away from Sara and Greg. Sara dove, as Grissom knew she would, in front of Greg, putting herself prone in front of him. She kept her gun pointed up at Weisman, in case Grissom missed or took a shot from the killer.

Grissom, always worried about being too old, didn't have time to worry for once. Weisman's gun came around towards him and for once in his life, Grissom didn't hesitate.

He fired four shots into Weisman's chest as he dropped to the floor, trying to avoid Weisman's line of fire. Weisman shot at least two rounds out of reflex. The noise was deafening.

Eric Weisman had a look of sheer puzzlement as he fell, and then a brief expression of disappointment. He'd really been enjoying his talk with Sara. He looked briefly at Grissom, to see who had shot him, and died.

Grissom sat in shock for a few seconds. He shook his head slightly, holstered his gun, and grimly leaned over to check for a pulse on Weisman. There was none.

"Grissom. Are you hit? Grissom!" Sara said desperately.

He looked up. Sara had holstered her gun and she and Greg sat huddled in the corner. Sara tried to get up on her knees and fell sideways. Satisfied the killer was dead, Grissom went to them and crouched down. She put her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arms' length until she was sure he wasn't bleeding.

"No, no, I'm fine," he said. "Are you both all right?"

"I'm fine," Greg said loudly. "I can't hear anything, though."

Grissom looked worriedly at Sara, but saw no injuries.

"I just can't get up. Shock or something. I'm fine." her voice cracked on the last sentence, and Grissom took her into his arms without hesitation.

"I'm so sorry. You both could have died." Grissom muttered.

Sara allowed herself to mold against him, hiding her face under his chin. He felt a few tears.

"I couldn't shoot him, Grissom. I just stood there. I just stood there," she cried angrily.

"So much for your murder gene," Grissom said, kissing the top of her head. She stifled a sob. "You did just fine. It's over."

Greg stared at them. "Did I miss something? Am I going to get in trouble for seeing this later?" he asked loudly.

Brass exploded into the room with his gun drawn, followed by three uniforms. He'd heard the shots as they pulled into the parking lot, and feared the worst.

"Thank God," Brass exclaimed, seeing that they were all in one piece. He took in Weisman's body, Grissom and Sara practically stuck together, and Greg's confused look in one glance.

"Gil, you scared the shit out of me. If you ever do that again, I won't be held responsible, I really won't. What happened?" The uniforms fanned out, one checking the body, one posting himself at the door and the other calling for an ambulance.

"I shot him." Grissom said simply. Sara attempted to extricate herself, hearing Brass, but Grissom held her tighter.

"I came in to find Weisman and Sara in a standoff, weapons drawn. Luckily I was behind him. I told him to drop his weapon, and when he turned, aiming at me, I fired. I think he fired too, but none of us are hit. I believe Greg was knocked out, he needs to be checked. Sara should be checked too, just to be safe. They're both in shock." Grissom removed a hand from Sara long enough to hand Brass his gun.

"So are you, most likely," Brass retorted. "There's an ambulance on the way. Along with the rest of the geek squad."

Sara lifted her head. "Fromansky was here, Brass, but he wouldn't go in with us. He lied and said the scene was clear. The killer told me himself Fromansky never came inside. He drove off before we were even up the stairs."

Brass regarded her gently. "OK, kiddo. Leave that to me."

"I want you to kick his ass." Sara fumed.

"Trust me. He's toast." Brass replied, with some amusement. Sara tried once again, half-heartedly, to disentangle herself from Grissom, with no success. Brass winked at her, ignoring Grissom's glare as he turned to meet Catherine, Nick and Warrick storming through the door.