A/N: Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Meager Protection

Again, Brass's voice forced Sara into action. As the gunfire paused briefly once again, she lifted her head and glanced around. She didn't think they could make it behind the cars—most of the shots had been clustered there, effectively cutting off their path to safety. Sara thought that perhaps she, alone, could make it, running swiftly and erratically; but there was no way she was leaving Grissom behind, barely conscious and unprotected.

Looking in the other direction, Sara saw what appeared to be a recessed doorway in the side of the building. It wasn't that far away, and Sara was fairly sure it was outside the trajectory of the gunman's bullets. With a little luck, she thought they might be able to make it, although she knew she couldn't do it dragging Grissom. She looked down at him just as the bullets started flying again.

"Grissom!" She raised her voice over the cracks of gunfire shattering the air. "Grissom! Can you hear me?" Bringing a hand up, she cupped his cheek and turned his head toward her. She was smudging even more blood over his skin, but she didn't care. "Open your eyes. Come on, Gris, open your eyes for me," she pleaded. She put her lips right against his ear and, ignoring the involuntary jerks her body made with each gunshot, whispered, "Please open your eyes for me."

His eyes slowly opened, and he blinked a few times, clearing his blurry vision. He remembered where they were and could hear more gunshots, but focused on Sara's face.

"There you are," she said, a small smile escaping despite the direness of their situation. "I knew you were still with me."

"What's…" he began, but she cut him off.

"I'm sorry, Grissom, but I really don't have time to explain," she started quickly. "I need your help with something. I know this will be extremely hard for you, but you've got to try or we're not gonna make it out of here."

He nodded at her, working very hard to keep up his concentration.

"We're under attack, Gris," she told him grimly. "We can't stay here—it's not safe. I've found a place we can go for cover. It's not far, but I can't carry you. I need you to help me." She stared hard into his eyes, letting him absorb the gravity of the situation. "Can you stand?"

He nodded, and she took that as a good sign. "Now, we don't have time to do this slow, Gris," she said apologetically. "When I count to three, you've got to get up. Lean on me—I'll help you as much as I can, but we've got to move. Okay?"

He nodded again, and his body visibly tensed as he braced himself for what was coming.

"Ready?" Sara asked. When she got a clear glance from him, she grabbed him under the arm and counted, "One…two…three!"

They rose as one; Sara dragged Grissom to his feet and pulled him as hard as she could across the parking lot. He stumbled and leaned, dragging his injured leg behind, but he did better than Sara had thought he would. Although bullets rained all around them, they made it to the wall unscathed, slamming into the side of the building and falling into a tangled heap in the small recess. Unfortunately, it wasn't a doorway as Sara had assumed; instead it was just a shallow cutout, allowing for the placement of external pipes and meters. It would be a tight and uncomfortable fit, but at least if they stayed in the space, they were just out of the sniper's range.

"Grissom, you okay?" Sara asked breathlessly, trying to rearrange their positions without hurting him.

"I…I don't know," he gasped, equally out of breath. The move had reawakened the pain in his leg, and hot agony seared a path up and down his entire left side. He was lightheaded; his breathing was rapid and shallow, and black dots danced in his vision.

Sara pushed off him as gently as she could so she could see his face. She knew they had hit hard, and that it could only have added to his pain. He was even paler than before, and his chest heaved in erratic spasms as he struggled to breathe normally.

"Grissom?"

Although his eyes were open, he didn't seem to hear her.

"Grissom?" she tried again, louder. Afraid that he was going to pass out on her, she quickly rubbed her hand on her jeans before placing them on either side of his face and turning his head toward her. "Grissom, look at me," she began. "Focus on me—on my face, on my voice." Her tone was firm, but her touch was gentle as she moved a hand from his cheek to brush back the sweat-soaked curls on his forehead. She watched as the haze cleared from his eyes and he really saw her. She couldn't help but give him a small smile of encouragement in return.

"Good," she continued, "now you need to control your breathing or you're going to hyperventilate. I want you to take a deep breath in, hold it, then let it out." She saw that he was slipping away from her again. "Grissom," she implored. She gave his head a little shake. "Grissom! Come on, stay with me."

He seemed to come back, but his eyes remained cloudy blue—dulled by the intense pain. Sara could tell that deep shock was setting in; he looked anguished and confused and so completely…lost that Sara began to cry again.

"Grissom!" she sniffed through her tears. "Come on, Grissom, listen to me." He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she took that as a sign to go on. "Okay, now breathe—slow and deep," she instructed.

He tried to do what she had told him, but he began to cough and wheeze when he held his breath.

"Good," she encouraged. "Try it again. Nice and slow."

He did, and it got easier with each lungful of air. Sara found herself breathing along with him, trying to help him focus and guiding the pace; finally their breathing patterns matched up.

Grissom felt a little better. At least he thought he could hang onto consciousness a while longer. Sara was relieved, too, even though she knew their situation was extremely serious and only getting worse. They were even further away from medical help now, and Grissom's condition was still deteriorating—the bleeding from his leg had been briefly slowed, but was now flowing at a steadier rate.

She immediately moved down to resume putting pressure on his wound. As soon as she did, more shots rang out, narrowly missing her. She had to squeeze in closer to Grissom to stay out of the sniper's path. The recess was really very shallow and small. Grissom was jammed inside the tight shelter, his head and shoulders at an uncomfortable angle against one wall, his legs bent and tangled, the injured one sticking out a bit from the shadow of the alcove.

Realizing that she was leaning some of her weight on Grissom, Sara carefully pushed off him. She had to stay practically on top of him to avoid being in the path of the bullets, but she didn't want to cause him any added pain. "I'm not going to be able to do this," she said, mostly to herself. She still needed to stop Grissom's bleeding, but she couldn't get into the correct position and keep them both protected. She remembered her first aid training and Jim's words from earlier. Tourniquet! she reprimanded herself silently, feeling like an idiot that she hadn't done it sooner.

To be continued…