Sitting, waiting, she curiously looked down at her hands, at the dirt under her fingernails. It was a stupid thing to notice but she couldn't help staring at it. It seemed odd really that something so ridiculously mundane should hold her attention like that but it did. And then realization struck her. It wasn't dirt; it was blood: Jim's blood.
"I need to wash my hands," Sara Sidle said to a passing nurse as she sat alone on the bed.
"Just hang tight. A doctor will be with you in a minute."
The woman didn't understand. No one understood. Sara needed to wash her hands now.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to keep from crying but the tears fell anyway.
oooooo
"Catherine."
Looking up at the sound of her name, she recognized the unmistakable walk and let out a heavy sigh. Somehow the sight of Gil Grissom made her feel a little relieved. He couldn't make the situation any better but if the news were bad, she'd have a shoulder to cry on.
"They told me Jim's in surgery." Grissom's expression exuded a controlled coolness but his voice gave away his anxiety. "Any word?"
She looked at the floor and felt the exhaustion weigh on her shoulders. "No."
"What about Sara?" He asked the question with more urgency than he intended but if pressed, it was his concern for her that really brought him upstairs. He'd thought she was in surgery as well.
"She was still down in the ER as of a few minutes ago. Nick went down to see how she was doing. She was pretty shaken up to say the least but I think she's okay. Jim took the brunt of it."
Grissom took a seat next to her, feeling a pang of relief. He needed to see Sara but right now, Catherine needed him. "What happened? I heard about the explosion but not many details."
"We haven't pieced together much but one of the officers said someone passed him an envelope addressed to the 'officer in charge'. He passed it to Brass and Jim opened it. Apparently, our bomber was nice enough to give us a head start."
"Sounds like you weren't his primary target."
Catherine stared ahead, processing his words. "You mean maybe the killer was trying to cover his tracks and we just happened to be in the way?"
"He sets the timer for the bomb to detonate so many minutes after the crime," Grissom said as he talked through his theory, "destroying any evidence left behind."
"Only someone discovers the bodies too soon and calls it in."
"And now he's got police and investigators on the scene, more than he bargained for."
Catherine rolled her eyes. "A killer with a conscience, that's a new one."
"Anything significant about the scene?"
"The husband was Raymond Shabibi, I'd say that's probably significant."
Grissom's eyebrows went up. "The WLVU professor?" Shabibi had been all over the news recently for his extremely contentious comments regarding the terrorist attacks on the United States.
"Yup. Brass had already confirmed it."
"This could be a hate crime then."
"He certainly pissed off a lot of people."
"There's going to be a long list of suspects."
"You mean the FBI's long list of suspects," Catherine said. "It's not our case any more. Culpepper and his boys were doing the walkthrough before I left and Atwater called in the day shift to assist with processing. This is one time I'm not going to argue."
"Right," he answered in a voice that told her he wasn't as willing to let it go as easily as she was. "I don't suppose you have any evidence left?"
"Nick and I got out with our kits and cameras so we have a few prints and photos but not much. Sara was working upstairs. I'm sure she left her kit when Brass..." Catherine's voice trailed off as she saw the scene play out in her mind once again: Sara leading the way through the front door, Brass close behind and then the deafening explosion.
"Any chance you or Nick photographed the onlookers? Bombers are like arsonists: they like to watch."
"Doubtful." Like everyone else in the vicinity, she and Nick had only been concerned with getting as far away as possible.
Hearing her resigned sigh, seeing the fatigued expression, Grissom asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she looked at her hands, still shaking after almost three hours. "You should probably check on Sara."
Grissom stood up then hesitated. Seeing the sadness in Catherine's eyes, he reached out and touched her shoulder. "He's going to be okay."
"Is that a hunch?"
He shook his head and in a dead serious voice said, "I don't believe in hunches."
oooooo
"Sara, honey, are you all right?" Gil recognized the look in her eyes right away and knew that physically, she might be okay but mentally, she was still in shock.
With most of the ringing in her ears now dissipated, she looked up at the sound of his voice and her bottom lip began to quiver. She wanted to hold it together; show him that she was tough and this only left her a little shaken. But she wasn't that strong. The tears began to fall.
"It was my fault." She looked at her hands again, grateful that Nick had helped clean most of the blood off. "It was my fault he got hurt," she repeated. "I wouldn't leave."
Grissom knew he should do something, say something comforting and reassuring, but he was on very unfamiliar ground. Women and their emotions made him uncomfortable, not because he thought they were unjustified—if anyone had justification for breaking down, it was Sara. He just wasn't sure what to do.
He started to reach out for her hand when the curtain parted and a doctor carrying X-rays entered. "Ms. Sidle," he glanced at Gil. "Are you a relative?"
"I'm her supervisor."
"Let him stay," Sara said. "Please?"
The doctor glanced from Sara's pleading expression to Grissom's steadfast glare and consented. "All right." He turned on the viewbox and stuck the films in place then proceeded to explain what she already knew.
Sara only half listened. She didn't care anyway. Once again she'd had her brush with death, only to skate by with a few minor injuries while someone else took the full impact. The last time it had been Greg. This time it was Brass. When would it be her turn?
oooooo
Catherine sat alone in the waiting area, staring blankly at a pale landscape painted on the light blue wall in front of her. She was exhausted but no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she saw it all again: Jim Brass on the ground, the two Paramedics frantically trying to keep his heart beating. What stayed with her the most though was how pale he looked. No one alive ever looked like that.
Forcing herself to shift her gaze, she wished she wasn't alone. Nick had joined her shortly after Grissom had gone down to the ER to find Sara and they sat in companionable silence for nearly a half hour before she insisted he go home and get some sleep. He'd reluctantly agreed but only if she promised to call with any news. That was nearly two and a half hours ago.
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, Catherine looked up to see a weary scrubs-clad man ambling down the corridor towards her. "Ms. Willows," he started, taking a seat in the chair next to her. "You're here for Captain Brass?"
She nodded, her stomach clenching tightly with apprehension. Where the hell is Gil?
"Friend or family?"
"Friend."
"I'm Doctor Sabien. I'm the surgeon who operated on Mr. Brass. Do you know if his family has been contacted?"
Dropping her head, feeling more than a little embarrassed, she shook her head. "No," she said letting out a long sigh. Catherine suddenly realized that for all the time she had known Jim Brass, for all the conversations they had shared, she really knew very little about his family. "He's got an ex-wife back in New Jersey and a daughter God knows where but other than that, I don't know. Maybe one of the detectives took care of it. Personnel should have access to his file, I could check with…"
"It's okay," the doctor said. "I'm not going to worry about protocol right now but if he does have family, they need to know." His expression conveyed the seriousness of the request.
She understood. "How is he?"
"We just moved him into the ICU. There were a couple of complications but I'm confident he's through the worst of it. He's had some trouble breathing on his own so he's still intubated and on a ventilator. He'll probably stay that way for at least the next 10 to 12 hours, just to give him a little extra pressure to inflate his lungs. We'll monitor him for any complications but I think it's really going to be a matter of seeing how he does with infection and the transfusions." He tried to stifle a yawn but failed. "Sorry, long night."
Catherine yawned too. "I know what you mean."
"You work graveyard?"
"Yes."
"So this is probably well past your bedtime. I'd suggest you go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow. We'll know more then."
Glancing at her watch, realizing she'd been waiting for more than six hours, she agreed. "Can I see him—before I leave?" Noticing the flecks of dirt and dust on her dark pants and yellow blouse, she realized it was a ridiculous request.
"Sorry, visitation in the ICU is limited to immediate family only; they're very strict about that. If he remains stable over the next twenty-four hours, I'll have him moved to a private room. You'll be able to visit him then. In the meantime there's a window if you'd like to look in on him."
Catherine thanked the man then followed him over to the large picture window a few feet down from the entrance to the ICU.
"I'll ask the nurse to open the blinds once he's settled." Doctor Sabien headed down the corridor, stopping to talk to one of the nurses and motioning in Catherine's direction.
The wait was relatively short but she had to look twice to see him and even then, the man lying there didn't look like the Jim Brass she knew. With the tape holding the breathing tube in place, obscuring his face, it was only the short, dark hair that looked familiar. She stood by the glass for several minutes then slowly walked away, trying to put the image out of her mind.
This wasn't how she wanted to remember him.