A/N: Hi, all! I'm sorry for the long delay in posting this next chapter. It wasn't planned. Let's just call it real life intruding, as it often does. I really appreciate all the reviews, and I hope everyone out there who was waiting for this fic to be updated is still waiting and will be reading this. The other chapters are ready to go, and will be posted much more quickly. Again, I truly thank everyone who has reviewed this story—especially those who have reviewed more than once—and I hope you enjoy the rest of it!

Chapter 5: Cold Fear

Tourniquet! she reprimanded herself silently, feeling like an idiot that she hadn't done it sooner…

Sara immediately unbuckled Grissom's belt, and tried to slip it off without rocking him too much. She explained it to him as she went along, although she didn't know if he understood her or not. "I've got to get this off you," she told him. She pulled, and the strip of leather began sliding off, but the metal end got caught on one of his belt loops. Reaching around, underneath him, she got it unstuck and tugged the belt until the rest of it came free.

"Now, I'm gonna put this around your leg and pull it tight," she continued explaining. Positioning the belt around his thigh, above the bullet wound, she slipped the end through the buckle and pulled it until it fit snugly, digging into his skin. She tugged it a little more to be sure and Grissom clenched his eyes shut and tried to stifle a moan; he reached out a hand to Sara.

Feeling his fingers graze her arm, she turned towards him and grasped his outstretched hand. When he felt her skin beneath his, he squeezed her hand hard as she finished cinching the tourniquet into place. She saw the pain on his face and felt tears coming again. "I'm sorry, Grissom," she said, her voice breaking. She swallowed, trying to regain control; she couldn't let herself lose it—not now. "I'm so sorry I keep hurting you, but I have to or…" She left the thought hanging and examined her work, still holding onto his hand.

It was difficult to tell if the tourniquet was successful since the clothing and wrapping surrounding the wound was already saturated in blood, but after staring for long seconds, Sara thought it looked like the bleeding had stopped. Thank God, she thought. She knew that Grissom was still in great danger, but she felt like at least she had done something to help him.

Just as it occurred to her that his hand felt quite chilled in hers, he began to shiver. "Grissom?" she began, watching the spasms wracking his body. "What's wrong?"

He opened his eyes, attempting to focus on her as he spoke. "C…cold," he managed to get out.

Shock, she reminded herself. His body temperature's dropping. "Okay…" she said out loud, but she had no idea what she could do. They had no blankets, not even any extra clothing. Sara had already given up her jacket as a makeshift bandage and Grissom was already wearing his. So she did the only thing she could think of. She slipped carefully in behind him so that his head rested against her shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. She held onto his shivering form and willed her body heat to flow into him. She didn't like feeling him shake so violently, but she was glad to be so close to him. She could feel his chest move in and out with each uneven breath, and she shifted one hand to his neck where she found his weak, thready pulse. At least he's hanging on… she thought. But for how long? The question caused a shiver to cascade through her as well—hers borne by dread instead of physical distress. He's lost so much blood…

She realized she was starting to panic, and closed her eyes. Focusing on her breathing, she calmed herself, knowing that if they were going to make it out of there, she would have to remain in control of her roiling emotions. Reluctantly removing one arm from Grissom, she plucked her cell phone off her hip, flicked it open, and pressed one number on her speed dial. After two rings, she said, "Jim, it's me. What's going on out there?"

"Nothing good," he replied grimly. "Guy's still firing off rounds sporadically—mainly in the direction you guys went."

"I noticed."

"We've got a chopper up, searching for the guy, but nothing yet." He paused just for a second, needing to know how Grissom was, but almost afraid to ask. Sara sounds calm, he thought, taking that as a good sign. But before he could voice the question, Sara supplied the answer for him.

"We're not doing too well over here," she began, still sounding eerily composed. "He's really bad, Jim—still bleeding, barely hanging on—and I can't do anything to help him…"

Her voice tightened, and Jim thought she was going to lose it. But he heard her take a ragged breath and continue, "You need to get someone here now to take care of him. I mean now, Brass. We're crammed in this little space and I can't do anything to try to stop the bleeding any more. There's just…no room to work and that bastard keeps shooting!"

She finally stopped her panic-driven tirade, and Brass heard her breathing heavily into the receiver. He knew she was quickly losing her grip and if she didn't hold onto sanity and reason, Grissom wouldn't have a chance. "Sara, listen to me now," he told her firmly, although his own heart was beating a mile a minute. "You need to keep it together. Keep calm, keep Grissom calm, and do your best. Help is coming. We're working on another way to get to you—through the building. The owner's on his way with the keys. He'll be here any second."

"Brass…" she began. Her voice was quieter now, the ire and frustration gone, utter despair taking its place.

"What is it, Sara?" he asked gently.

"He's lost so much blood," she said, the words fading to a whisper. "He looks…awful. I'm afraid we…I…" He heard the hitch in her voice, and he could tell her tears were falling now. "We might…lose him, Jim…"

Her voice trailed off and then all he heard were soft sobs. For a moment, Brass was speechless. He'd never really considered the possibility of Grissom dying. Certainly not in a situation like this. CSIs were scientists, not cops. They weren't supposed to be in the line of fire or be killed in the line of duty. Holly was… he reminded himself. He shook his head to rid it of the disturbing memory. But it's not supposed to happen to Grissom! his brain insisted. Sudden anger flooded through him, temporarily blotting out the fear, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist.

"He won't quit, Sara," Brass assured her, his tone clipped and forceful. "He's a fighter, he won't give up, he'll…" The power behind his words whooshed out like the air from a deflating balloon. He took in two full, slow breaths before going on, "You don't let him quit, okay, Sara? Tell him we're all pulling for him… Tell him we need him… Tell him…" Brass paused again, swallowing hard against the emotions threatening to overpower him. He could hear Sara's uneven breathing on the other end, letting him know she was listening. "Tell him if he gives up, I'll personally run over there and kick his ass! The last thing I want is to have to do his job again!" He heard a small chuckle through the phone, and he knew he had gotten through to her.

"Okay, I will. I'll tell him all of that." She was still laughing a bit in spite of herself.

"Good," he replied, a small smile still adorning his face as he forgot their troubles for a couple of seconds. "Hang on a minute, Sara," he said, and she could tell he had covered the mouthpiece and was talking to someone else. "All right, Sara, the paramedics say that the best thing you can do for Gil is to keep him talking. Make sure he's conscious and can understand you. If anything changes, you let us know immediately, okay?"

"I will."

Her voice still held a slight quiver, but Brass felt she'd be able to handle things. "Good girl. Now do me one more favor, okay, kiddo?"

"What's that?"

"You can put the phone down, but please keep me connected. That way if…anything…does happen, you can just yell out to me. You won't have to waste time remembering numbers or pressing buttons. Okay?"

"Sure."

"Good."

She was about to lower the phone, when he spoke again.

"Listen, Sara…" he began. "He can't…don't let him…" he struggled, then finished in a rush, "You just take care of him, all right?"

"Of course I will," she promised.

Jim could tell that she meant it, from the depths of her soul, despite the obvious uncertainty that hung from her words. "It'll just be a few more minutes, I promise," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And if it takes any longer than that I'm going to run out there myself, toss Gil over my shoulder, and bring him back to the ambulance, whacked-out shooter be damned!"

"I'm sure you could sell tickets to that," she joked weakly. Brass was trying to remain the sardonic, wry police captain that they all knew and loved, but Sara could tell he was as scared as she was.

"Hey, I could do it," he protested, mock-hurt. "I've been working out, you know."

"Yeah, right."

The very uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by Brass. "Remember what I said, Sara…and keep the phone on."

"I will."

"I'll…see you both soon," he finished awkwardly.

"Okay." She pulled the phone from her ear and put it down carefully without pressing END.

To be continued…