Title: Concern

Summary: A young brunette is dead, Sara is late and Grissom is concerned.

Notes: This is my first ever Unbound Challenge response and my second ever CSI fanfiction. I must also admit that I have only been watching this show for about 2 or 3 months, and I know absolutely nothing about forensics.Any comments, suggestions or criticism will be eagerly pounced upon and appreciated to pieces.

Disclaimer: I have absolutely nothing to do with CSI, CBS or William Peterson. For now.

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"The blood spatter is inconsistent…" Catherine Willows held her flashlight up to the wall and frowned quizzically. A few feet away, Gil Grissom lowered his camera and looked up from his crouch over the victim of the hour, a young brunette woman with three gunshot wounds in her head. She was an apparent target of a burglary turned violent; her television, stereo and computer had been removed, along with her wallet and most of the jewelry from her bedroom.

"Inconsistent with what?" He stepped over the body to examine the blood in question.

"You see these spatters over there?" Catherine gestured with the beam of her flashlight. "They move from left to right, which is consistent with the gunshots. But this first part, here…"

"Right to left." Grissom tapped his fingers against his chin. The two stood in contemplative silence and stared at the wall.

"Maybe she fought back."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "You think this is the suspect's blood?"

"Could be. Maybe she hit him with something."

"I didn't find anything nearby." Grissom turned and swept his gaze over the area surrounding the body.

"Did you check her knuckles? Maybe she was punching."

"Hard enough to draw blood? She isn't very big." He knelt next to the body and carefully lifted one of her limp wrists into his gloved hand.

"So? She was fighting for her life. It probably got pretty intense. Besides, Gil, size isn't always an indication of strength. Just look at Sara."

It was a passing comment, but Grissom looked up sharply. This victim reminded him enough of Sara as it was. She was young and lived alone, and judging from the stack of rented DVDs and the kitchen full of take out cartons, she didn't get out much. The neighbor who called 911 after hearing gunshots didn't even know her name, despite having lived next to her for nearly a year. Her landlord had been unable to provide a list of family or friends in the area. If it hadn't been for the shots, she probably would have been left to rot for days.

Catherine sighed. "Well, I'm going to see if I can get these spatters sorted out before the sun rises."

Grissom nodded and turned his concentration back to the victim's knuckles, which had indeed darkened with telltale bruising. He retrieved his camera and resumed snapping pictures, pausing for a moment to stare at her bloodied face through the lens.

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Grissom sat at his desk, staring at the clock on the wall and tapping a pen anxiously against his mug of coffee. Sara was late. If it were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have even noticed, but Sara was never late. In fact, she was almost always early. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. A few seconds later the high pitched jingle of her ring tone drifted in from the hall. Grissom frowned and stood up from his desk just as Sara walked in, holding up her ringing phone with a weak smile. He snapped his phone shut and studied her carefully. She looked exhausted.

"Sorry. I overslept."

"Really?" He looked at her cautiously and returned to his seat. Well, at least she'd been sleeping.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "What else do you think would I'd be doing?"

"No, I didn't mean…it's just that you've never been late before. I was worried."

Sara blinked. "It was only half an hour."

"Like I said. You're never late." He smiled hesitantly and was relieved when she conceded his point with a quirk of her lips.

"Yeah, well, it won't happen again."

He had just opened his mouth to ask how she was when Catherine breezed into the office, carrying a stack of files.

"Got an ID on our vic from last night. Sarah Dawson, age 26." Both she and Grissom glanced quickly at Sara, apparently thinking the same thing. Catherine cleared her throat and handed him a file. "She was a graduate student. Library sciences. Worked part time at a local community college. I'll give her boss a call, see if I can find out anything else about her."

Grissom nodded. "I should have her autopsy results soon. I'll give you a page." The blonde woman nodded and left the office. Sara was frowning at him.

"What was that about?"

"What?"

"That look you and Catherine gave me. Was it because of the name? Because there are a lot of women in Vegas named Sarah."

Grissom sighed and began massaging his temples. "I know that. She just… looked a little like you." This case was bothering him more than he liked. He had already dealt with a Sara look-alike once, and that had been painful enough.

"Are you okay?"

He looked at Sara through his fingers. "Funny, I was going to ask you the same question."

"You just look tired," she answered, sidestepping his comment. "You guys were at that scene for a long time. Catherine said something about inconsistent blood spatters?"

"Yeah, apparently she fought back and managed to get some of the suspect's blood on the wall. It took hours to sort out."

"Bet Catherine enjoyed that." Sara smirked. "She loves a good blood puzzle."

Grissom returned her smile as she stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

"I'm going to get some coffee and get started processing that hit and run from last night."

"Get Nick to help you. He could probably use something to do." He didn't like the idea of her shut up in the dark lab by herself, processing bloody clothing all night.

"All right." She flashed him a quick smile and shut the door behind her. Grissom glanced around his desk, located the remote control for his stereo and started up Fidelio. There was nothing like Beethoven for a stack of paperwork. Half an hour later, he threw down his pen in frustration as the bloodied face of Sarah Dawson appeared in his mind's eye once more. He didn't want to be stuck in his office all night, slaving away for the bureaucrats. He wanted to be solving this case. Her clothes should be in Trace by now, he thought, shutting off the stereo. He tossed the remote onto the table as he stood up.