A/N: You know I couldn't leave you hanging where chapter 1 ended! So, here's the next installment. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: A Lifetime

An amazing amount of thoughts flew through Sara's mind in that split second after she had turned Grissom over… Stop the bleeding, get help, it looks bad, he could bleed out right in front of you, he could die…no! Stop, don't panic, keep him calm, reassure him, he won't die, he can't die… She physically shook herself, and only the two most urgent thoughts remained, blaring inside her head: Get help and stop the bleeding!

"Brass…" she called, but her throat was dry and her voice came out as a weak croak. Quickly clearing her throat and taking a breath, she tried again, "Brass! Grissom's been hit! We need an ambulance now!" The volume of her cry hid most of the shaky timbre of her voice; she was surprised at how normal she had sounded.

Kneeling down, she took off her jacket and wrapped it around Grissom's leg, prying his fingers off and replacing them with her own. Increasing the pressure on the wound, she got her first good look at his face. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, his features creased in agony; he was already frighteningly pale and dripping with sweat. Sara could hear his labored breathing, even over the hammering of her own heart in her ears.

As she shifted her weight to add more pressure to his leg, he moaned, and the undeniable anguish in the sound brought the prick of tears to Sara's eyes. She was sure the pain was enormous and she felt the absurd need to apologize. "I'm sorry, Grissom," she told him softly. "But I need to slow this bleeding." After a breath, she quickly added, "You're going to be okay, though. You'll be all right." The forced optimism in her tone was obvious, but she had felt the need to say it. Keep him calm, reassure him, her brain reminded her.

She couldn't even be sure that Grissom had heard her, until his shaky whisper fought its way through the distance between them. "Sara?"

"It's me, Gris," she replied, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. "I'm right here, and you're going to be fine. Just lie still."

"It…hurts…" he gasped.

"I know," she answered quietly, her eyes filling and overflowing, tears falling onto Grissom's leg where they were swallowed up by the spreading bloodstain.

"Ambulance is on the way, Sara!" Brass shouted to her.

"Thanks!" She added a silent prayer to hurry it on its way.

"How's he doing?"

She didn't know what to say. She wanted Brass to know how serious things were, but she didn't want to panic Grissom. She was certain that shock and disorientation were setting in, and that Grissom probably wouldn't completely comprehend what she said, but she still chose her words carefully. "He was hit in the thigh—I don't think it went through! He's conscious, but bleeding badly!"

As soon as he heard that, Brass slunk around to the back of one of the police cars, and popped open the trunk. He realized his actions would be visible from the sniper's location, but he felt it was worth the risk. There had been no other shots and Brass half-hoped that the shooter had given up and gone home, even though the cop in him was screaming otherwise. Right now, he knew police officers were fanning out, surrounding the immediate area, and planning their next step in finding the shooter and apprehending him without further casualties.

Casualties? his brain questioned. He hadn't meant to think that. Injuries, he corrected. Without further injuries. He shivered as he realized he had mentally killed off one of his best friends. Gil will be fine, he told himself. He's alive… Sara would have told me if he was really bad. And help's on the way. Already his trained ears were picking up distant sirens, signaling that reinforcements and paramedics were closing in.

Standing up carefully behind the barrier of protection the trunk provided, Brass quickly pulled out rifles, shotguns, Kevlar vests, rope, smoke bombs, and anything else he thought might be useful later. He dumped the equipment onto the ground, making sure to grab the first aid kit—his main reason for looting the supplies—before slamming the trunk closed and sinking back down behind the car again.

He reversed his earlier path, moving low and close to the side of the police car, until he was back as near to Sara and Grissom as he could get while still remaining somewhat covered.

"Any change?" he called, practically yelling even though his words easily carried through the still air.

"Not really!" Sara answered, her voice reaching nearly the same volume as Jim's as nervous energy took control.

"Hey, Gil!" Brass called next. "How are you doing? Still hanging in there, pal?"

Grissom's eyes opened at the sound of his friend's voice. Sara watched as he blinked a few times. His eyes were dull and hazy from the pain, but he still seemed lucid. It appeared to Sara that he had heard Jim, but was taking an awfully long time to process the simple question and formulate a response. She wasn't sure that Grissom would even have the ability or strength to answer.

The injured entomologist took a couple of deep breaths. Then he swallowed and licked his lips, like he was preparing to say something. Sara waited, but no sound came from his throat. She was about to just answer for him, when he finally uttered, "I'm…trying…Jim." Each word was an obvious struggle, and his hoarse voice barely made it over the growing sirens to Jim's ears.

The weakness and agony in his friend's voice sent a shiver of dread down Brass's spine. He's bad… he silently admitted to himself. Sara wasn't telling the whole story. He was somewhat angry that she had kept it to herself, but his concern for Grissom overrode every other emotion. "Just hang on, Gil!" he shouted, hoping to offer reassurance. "You hear that?" He paused to let both CSIs hear the sirens—quite loud now and obviously close by. "Help's on the way, buddy! And I've got a first aid kit here!"

Sara's mood brightened a bit at that information. But before she could even say anything, Jim announced, "I'm bringing it over!" and dashed out from behind the car.

Sara barely got out, "Jim, I don't…" before gunshots and chaos erupted again. The succession of bullets effectively blocked Brass's path to Grissom and Sara, and he was forced to run back behind the cars. Sara threw herself on top of Grissom, trying to protect him from the deadly projectiles.

Almost as quickly as it had started, the burst of gunfire stopped again. "Sara!" roared Brass the second the din faded away. "Sara! Are you guys all right?"

As soon as she caught her breath, she called back, "We're okay, I think!" Gingerly, she crawled off Grissom, doing a rapid mental check of her body—she didn't feel any fresh aches or pains. But during the latest barrage, she had lost her grip on Grissom's wounded leg, and she immediately grasped at the area, applying pressure again. She was alarmed at the amount of blood that was still flowing from the ragged hole in his pants; the jacket that she had used as a makeshift bandage was already sodden mess, and she still felt fresh blood oozing from the injury.

As she continued to apply pressure, alarm bells were going off in her head; she knew Grissom's time was running out. A sinking feeling hit her when she realized she could no longer hear the approaching sirens of the paramedics. "Jim, where the hell is that ambulance?" she demanded in frustration and panic. "I can't stop the bleeding!"

"I don't know!" he shouted back. "It should have been here by now!" He tossed the first aid kit he had retrieved in Sara's direction; the plastic case clicked on the asphalt as it came to rest near Sara's hand. "Here! Maybe something in this will help!" Jim suggested. "Or…I don't know, try a tourniquet! Anything! Just keep trying, Sara!"

As Brass's words sank in, Sara heard him grumbling into one of the uniformed cop's radios, demanding to know the status of medical assistance. After contemplating for a few seconds, she took one hand off Grissom's leg, swept the first aid kit next to her, and popped open the clasps. Flipping back the lid, she saw what she was looking for right on top—two rolls of thick gauze.

Snatching the first wad of bandages, she quickly wound it around Grissom's thigh and the soaked remains of her jacket, only releasing the pressure of her other hand when she absolutely had to. She tugged the bandage into place, then reached for the second roll. Wrapping it around the first, she cinched it as tightly as she could, grunting with the effort. Grissom let out a strangled cry of pain, and Sara automatically replied, "I'm sorry, Grissom," in a quiet voice. She hated the whole situation—hated hurting him in order to help him—but at least the sound assured her that he was still with her.

She stared at the white bandages encircling Grissom's leg. "Maybe that'll help," she mumbled, praying that it would. He's already lost so much blood… Keeping her eyes trained on the top layer of gauze, she waited for any evidence of red blossoms of blood blooming through. When nothing happened, a brief burst of relief surged through her. She finally had a second to think, and she turned her attention to Grissom.

"You okay, Gris?" she asked gently. She reached up and ran her hand over his forehead and down the side of his face; his skin was cold and clammy. Shock… she thought with a shiver of concern. "Can you hear me, Gris?" she asked, stroking his face again and moving her fingers through his damp hair.

He let out a low moan and moved his head, and Sara took that as an affirmative response. "Good," she said. "You just hang on and help'll be here soon."

She glanced at his leg—the bandages seemed to be holding—and then at her watch. She stared in disbelief for a second or two. Could that be right? She thought. She shook her wrist and held the watch to her ear in a futile attempt to hear the ticking sound; she knew electric watches didn't tick—it was just an impulsive movement. According to Sara's watch, only ten minutes had passed since the first shots had rung out; but it felt like a lifetime since she had looked over and seen Grissom lying on the ground.

To be continued…