DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor control any of the cast or crew of CSI. They belong to some lucky guy over in the USA and the CBS Company.
SPOILERS: None.
WARNINGS: Nothing major. Mention of death (Poss. Character – depending), loss and maybe a bit of gory bits, but it's emotive really )
NOTES: Okay, I didn't write this thing, one of my good mates did, so all credit goes to him (say hi Wilbur!). He didn't write it intending it to be used for CSI, he just wrote it. Don't know why.
It's not necessarily shipperish, nor does it have specific characters in it. It's up too you as too who you'd like it to be, but in my opinion I like to think of it as Nick & Catherine – the relationship they have, even if it's not romantic.
So to re-cap: Credit – Wilbur
Characters – Anyone you want
Thanks' – Anyone who reads and enjoys.
Bruised Blood
You only wish the blood on your hands was your own. Your friend turns rigidly to look at you. Sensing your sympathy, they tell you that it is not your fault. You know it isn't. But you feel so powerless, so helpless. They rest their head on your lap. Your tear drops onto their face. Don't cry, they say. You have been extremely close friends, maybe not for as long as you would have wanted. You remember first meeting them. You never knew this friendship would form from it. In fact, it was probably the last thing you expected. A couple of harmless jokes. You still acted like an imbecile though. Whatever happened to cross that first gap into trust was the best thing that ever happened to you. And you never realised it happened. You don't even know how it happened. You were just extremely happy about knowing that it happened. Destiny, maybe. Your friendship grew, and grew, and now they know just about everything about you, including your darkest thoughts and fears. Please don't cry, they say. Embarrassingly, you try to hide it. Convince them that you are not. Blatantly obvious. They have felt you cry before. This isn't about you. You hold them, embrace them, thank them for never telling anyone all the secrets you have shared, every confidential thing you have told them, they kept it held within them. Utmost confidant. They explained that they promised you that they would never tell. And they keep their promises. They are not going to tell anyone either. They won't have the chance. In every time of need, they were there. Comforted you when you were pained, calmed you when angry, protected you when threatened. There is so much you want to say, want to thank them for, want to do for them right now. But you can't. There is not enough time. You can't help them, lost to the giving world now. But by now your eyes sting from the tears. They plead for you to stop crying, that everything is okay. Your tears wash the blood away from their mouth, their lips. Ironic, isn't it, that as their time approaches, it turns out that it is you who needs their comfort. They stroke your cheek, and you suddenly breathe in heavy stages, all for one breath. They wipe away your tears. Send you a smile. Send one back. Reach up to you, give you a hug. As they do so, they whisper something in your ear. Listen attentively. Your mind swims, your emotions start to rip the last of you apart, and as the new dawn fades, they turn, look at you, give you one last smile, and fall limp in your arms. You're not sure how the smile got onto your face, but you've forgotten how to breathe. That doesn't seem to matter anymore. Time stands still. All that is going through your mind is what they whispered to you. You repeat it, over and over. Place the soulless figurine on the bed, in front of the dark red sky. You kiss them on the forehead, and as you do, you can hear yourself breathe thank you. Their voice is still repeating what they said as you stare into the whites of their eyes. Thank you.