Epilogue – The Beast.

Disclaimer – Put two and two together will ya!

Notes – Nothing to report here, other than watch out for the rampant spoilers. And yes, this is going to be the last big fight before the end (if you couldn't see that coming then you should repeat whatever stage of education you are in!) Sorry if the ending of this story is something of a disappointment to you, reader, but it's what I've got. Enjoy!

Grissom arrived at the crime lab feeling much the same way he did when he left the alder plantation. No, check that, he felt worse. Now there was less to do, giving more time for him to think.

He had just killed a person. Killed him. Accident or not, a man was dead because of him. And not just any man, but his mentor, the same person who had interested a young Gilbert Grissom in forensics in the first place. This was wrong. This was so wrong. He was meant to arrest killers, not become one.

He trudged into the break room to find Catherine already there, nursing a cup of Greg's Blue Hawaiian coffee. From the look on her face, she hadn't had the time of her life on this case either, but when Grissom walked in, she forced a smile onto her face.

"Hey. I heard they got Ellie out of there?"

"They did." Grissom replied with little enthusiasm. "She and Brass have gone home to recuperate."

Cath cocked her head. "I also heard there was a shootout."

Grissom said nothing. Catherine turned back to her mug. "You know," she began in a low tone "you had us pretty worried for a while. Are you OK?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. Now let's try 'you're not OK, so what's up?'"

Grissom smiled, despite himself. Catherine Willows was probably the only person in the world who could read him like a book. She almost certainly knew what was wrong, but had also decided that the best thing for Grissom would be to describe it himself. To let it all out.

He, in turn, could usually tell what Cath was thinking. Right now it was along the lines of "I am not going to let up on him until he opens up. Just let him try to avoid this conversation". So he told her. He told her everything, from when they arrived at the alder plantation, to when he had told Warrick that Kyle Andrews was really the one responsible for Holly Gribbs' murder.

Grissom finally asked her a question, in a small voice. "When you killed Syd Goggle, the Strip Strangler, did you feel this empty?"

Cath shook her head. "No. There is not a doubt in my mind that Goggle would have killed you if I hadn't. That makes it very much okay with me."

Grissom sighed. He'd been afraid of that.

Cath continued. "I'm not saying I didn't feel anything, though. For a while I felt scared, as though I had changed forever. I spent about a month convincing myself that wasn't the case, until I finally realised how stupid that was. I had changed, in a fundamental way. I would never be the same person again, ever."

She leaned in close. "But that doesn't mean I became a worse person for having made that choice. Change isn't always a bad thing."

"For me it is." Grissom murmured. "And I don't know if I made a choice at all. That's going to haunt me, maybe for the rest of my life."

Catherine's voice took on a calm, but intense tone "Not unless you let it."

Tears finally began to spill over Grissom's cheeks, and Catherine's face softened. "He was my mentor, Cath. He was…my friend. I-I just wish h…"

What Grissom wished remained unsaid, as they were rudely interrupted by Detective Vega quite literally flying down the crime lab corridor.

Grissom was shocked out of his mood by the sound of screaming.

Warrick was thinking about death. Gerard's. Gribbs'. His own.

He felt like someone had ripped a hole in his stomach. Kyle Andrews had killed Holly Gribbs, or had at least had a hand in her death. That kid they'd arrested had just been a pawn. And none of it would have happened at all if it wasn't for him.

He was reminded of the old play by J.B. Priestly: An Inspector Calls. Five people had all unknowingly, yet stupidly contributed to the death of an innocent girl. Now Warrick knew how they must have felt at the end of the play, had they been real.

Holly Gribbs. Grissom brought her to Vegas. Catherine convinced her to stay. Brass sent her out into the field. Warrick abandoned her. Gerard told Kyle where she was. Kyle went to find her. And that little junkie son of a bitch had pulled the trigger.

They all helped to kill her. And Warrick was going to have to live with that, all over again.

He looked up to find he had arrived at the morgue. Figures, he thought. The body goes where the mind is. Maybe Doc Robbins could help him, if he felt like talking. He could sometimes double as a psychiatrist, at least in Warrick's opinion. He stepped inside.

And found himself face to chest with Kyle Andrews.

For one moment Warrick felt sure his heart was going to punch it's way through his ribs. When he had first seen him from a distance, Kyle had towered over him, and had been a menacing sight, even when calm. Now, up close, face contorted in insane rage, with a seriously hurt (if not dead) David at his feet, he was beyond terrifying.

Warrick knew if he ran, he wouldn't get more than three feet from the giant man before his neck was broken. If he drew his gun, Kyle would retrieve it, along with a good part of the arm that was holding it. So that left him with one option, by far and away the stupidest and most reckless. He lowered his head and charged.

Kyle was caught off guard, enough for Warrick to overbalance him, but it didn't last long. His counter to Warrick's insane move was a simple, almost automatic one. Rather than wasting time with a well-aimed jab or an uppercut, he simply brought his fist down and thumped Warrick on the head.

The incredible shock of the blow dislocated Warrick's mind from the rest of him. For a moment he didn't know who, where, or what he was. Then, as criminal and criminalist crashed onto the steel surgical table together, the force of the new impact jolted Warrick back into his senses, and forced him to face the reality of a skull that felt like it was being held together by sticky tape and positive thinking.

Kyle wrenched himself up, heaving Warrick off him. He lashed out with his right hand in a sweeping arc that dropped the ex-gambler to the floor. Warrick made one valiant effort to get up, and promptly sank into unconsciousness…

Vega gulped down his coffee with unusual satisfaction. Sara had been right. That Sanders kid, whatever else he might be, knew what was good coffee and what was bad coffee. Vega made a mental note to check how much this Blue Hawaiian stuff cost per ton.

There was another, more substantial reason for Vega's good mood. He had some news that was going to make the CSI's very happy people. The new Assistant Lab Director, one Elisabeth Nielsen (or 'Lizzie', she hated formalities) was as different from the anal-retentive Conrad Ecklie as you could hope for. Firm but fair, and not above pulling her own weight (she was a CSI herself, with an excellent case record), Lizzie had made the decision to create a precedent; namely the first CSI liase unit.

In effect, this meant that the Day and Graveyard shifts, if they so chose, could work together, or exchange team members as they saw fit. Catherine Willows was, effective immediately, promoted to her long-awaited position of Day shift supervisor, and CSI's Stokes, Brown, Sidle, Sanders and Curtis could pretty much choose their shifts. All it needed was the official all clear from the shift leaders themselves (unlike Ecklie's autocratic style of command, Lizzie Nielsen was far more democratic).

Vega felt sure that the others would be just as pleased with these developments as he was. He bumped into Sara and Greg in front of the break room.

"Hey, guys, have you seen Warrick and Nick anywhere?"

Sara replied "Uh, we haven't seen Nick since he got back from the plantation, but Warrick, I think, went into the morgue a while ago."

Greg nodded. "Man, I hope Nick's okay. I heard there was a gunfight out there…"

Vega gestured towards the break room where Grissom and Catherine were deep in conversation. "Listen, I've got some great news. Hang on while I find Nick and Warrick, and then meet me in the break room for a hell of a treat!"

Greg cracked a mischievous grin. "Ooohh. Do I hear a voice whispering 'raise'?"

"Dream on, Greg." deadpanned Sara.

Vega strode over to the morgue and opened the door. He instantly regretted it.

Vega had time to register a brief, confused image of Warrick and David, both on the ground and bleeding copiously, and someone looming over them, hands reaching for Warrick.He had time to further register who that massive someone was before he vaulted over the steel table and planted both feet firmly against Vega's chest.

He was flung backwards about twelve feet, past the break room door and two very shocked young scientists. Greg and Sara had screamed in surprise when Vega flew past them. Now most of the crime lab staff (whose attention had been most assuredly drawn and fixed by the proceedings) screamed in fear as the gigantic form of Kyle Andrews stormed its way out of the morgue.

Grissom and Catherine bolted up from the coffee table in the break room and headed for the door. Grissom, being nearest, got there first, and opened it onto a heart-freezing sight. Kyle Andrews, free, unrestrained, and furious, advancing on a terrified Sara and Greg, both of whom had chosen this decidedly inconvenient time to freeze up.

Seeing, above all else, that Sara Sidle was in danger, Grissom reacted automatically, charging out of the room with pistol drawn. Without even looking at him, Kyle threw out an open-handed strike that propelled Grissom into the nearest wall, knocking him out.

One massive hand clamped around Sara's throat and lifted her effortlessly into the air. She clawed frantically at it, and lashed out at Kyle's stomach with her legs. The result was nothing more than broken nails and stubbed toes, which were the least of her immediate worries.

Greg saw what was happening to Sara and panicked. He hand went to his hip, but of course the stupid gun was in the locker room. Reacting with idiot optimism, he grabbed the nearest object to hand (an unopened Budweiser bottle) and threw it as hard as he could at Andrews' head.

Amazingly, it connected with his solar plexus, knocking him off balance. Reflexively, his hand opened, and Sara dropped, choking, to the floor.

"Let her go!" yelled Greg as he charged forward, as if unaware that Kyle had already done so. Upon reaching the behemoth, he began to pummel him with both fists, throwing all of his not inconsiderable strength behind them.

He might as well have been punching a concrete wall. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck with one hand, and the belt of his Levi's with the other, the giant man hefted Greg as if he was made of cotton, and slammed him, back first, into the ceiling.

Mindless agony ricocheted up and down Greg's spinal cord, but Andrews' punishment against this insolent little scum for daring to attack him was not over. Pulling Greg down, he threw him bodily towards the nearest glass surface.

And so for the second time in his illustrious career, Greg Sanders found himself crashing through the wall of what was once his DNA lab. Only this time, he was travelling inwards, not outwards, and he had something besides the ground to break his fall. Namely Mia Dickerson, who caught Greg's full weight across her spine. Both past and present lab techs fell together, neither planning to get up for some time.

"No, Bastard!" shouted Catherine from behind Andrews. She raised her gun to his back, meaning to empty her pistol into the base of his spine. This time it was Kyle himself who stopped her from shooting him, not Greg or Sara. Spinning around with unreal speed, he grabbed her arm just above the elbow and pulled it upwards, breaking the bone cleanly in two.

Screaming in agony, Cath doubled over as Nick raced around the corner, stopping dead as his eyes told his brain what was happening. Through her pain, she dazedly wished that she had killed this fucker when she'd had the chance.

Kyle, now the epitome of calmness, picked up Catherine's dropped gun, aimed in Nick's general direction, and fired.

Two things saved Nick from being turned into a brand new crime scene. Firstly, his ability to move quickly (in this case ducking behind cover). Secondly, the fact that Kyle's incredible size, whilst a considerable advantage in close combat, was a detriment in at least one regard; it took half a second for his huge finger to fit into the trigger loop of Cath's relatively tiny pistol.

Which is fortunate, because the first bullet missed Nick by two inches, instead shattering several panes of glass behind him. The crime lab staff went berserk, and alarms began to trill mindlessly from everywhere. Kyle fired again, this time aiming at the nearest of the uniformed cops responding to the alarms. The unfortunate officer died instantly, as his buddies dived for cover and dodged the stampeding lab techs.

'How the hell can I be in two gunfights in as many hours!' Nick's mind gibbered frantically. The sound of the shots alone was enough to persuade him not to move a muscle.

Kyle, meanwhile, kept one hand firing off a shot every few seconds, while the other reached down towards the wailing, pain-stricken Catherine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this one. That bitch had earned every minute of her demise, and if Kyle could hold the police back long enough, he could get her far enough away to ensure that it was a lot of minutes. Maybe he could even introduce her to the same fiery death he had planned for Holly…

His leg! Pain in his left leg! Kyle bellowed in agony as Sara plunged a shard of shattered glass into the back of his knee. He had forgotten the fucking brunette and now she had stabbed him! HIM! For perhaps the first time in his life, Kyle Andrews felt the stirrings of real horror. He had never been so hurt, so fundamentally wounded. The fear he felt was that of a man who experiences something terrible that they have not encountered before, and they wonder if their lives are at risk…

Kyle turned around, gun forgotten now. He would snap this skinny little brat in two before he concentrated on the redhead bitch and her faggot friends. No-one did this to him and lived.

The prolonged silence (broken only by the sound of smashing glass, and the fading trill of the alarm) prompted Nick and the rest of the uniform cops, who had now been joined by Detectives O'Riley and Conroy, to inch their way forward, guns drawn and fingers on the triggers. Nick's survival instinct couldn't quite believe what he was doing, but the people in trouble were his best friends, and he couldn't just sit there. He had to at least try to help them.

But Kyle, and Sara, were not in sight. Catherine, wheezing with pain, picked herself up and (left-handed) drew her other gun, the one nobody had ever known about, not Grissom, not Eddie, not all the drunken assholes back at the French Palace who'd thought that a few beers meant she was as good as theirs. She had never before needed to use it. It was a weapon of last resort. She needed it now.

Because she alone could see what was happening to Greg.

The giant fist came down again, and a sound like twigs snapping convinced Greg that none of his ribs were intact anymore. The pain was unbearable! He couldn't even draw in enough of a breath to scream. The other hand pressed against his stomach, slowly crushing him into the break room table. He saw Kyle's face through a haze of agony, and spat a mouthful of blood into his eyes, his last trick.

It only served to infuriate the big man even more. He head-butted Greg, driving his nose against his face, and spun him around. For a moment he genuinely regretted picking himself up and hurling himself against Kyle Andrews. He had flung the whole weight of his body at the living colossus, and, in case that wasn't enough, had brought one of Mia's lab beakers in an over-arm swing to impact Kyle's amazed face.

The good news was that the shock of both impacts had propelled Kyle backwards, into the break room, and had caused him to instantly forget his tender ministrations toward Sara. The bad news was that Greg now had his complete attention…

Yes, he regretted it now, all right. What was the use of any defiance against this incredible physical punishment? Why hadn't he just lain there, safe, and let him kill Sara? Why was he thinking these things, when the answers to both questions were obvious?

It dawned on Greg that the pain had, mercifully, stopped, if only for a moment. He opened his eyes, blinking against the red sheen that was his own blood. Catherine, face wracked with pain and worry, was holding a gun crookedly at Kyle's chest.

Which Greg was now in front of. Because Kyle was holding him there. Stupidly, he tried to move. Ridiculous! How could he have expected his body to respond to any mental command when it was in this state? All the fight was out of him. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He realised that Catherine was holding the gun with her left hand, and that her right was hanging at her side at a warped angle. It was clearly broken. Greg's heart ached with sympathy, until a breath drew two edges of rib against each other and he started feeling sorry for himself again.

Catherine was in a similar state of mind. She would feel sorry for Greg later. Right now her arm felt like someone was dragging it through a pile of rusted nails. Every inch of her wanted to kill this filthy piece of shit for what he had done, but Greg was in the way of her fire. Her aim wasn't good enough with her left hand to try and shoot anyway. Why couldn't I have my right arm instead, thought Cath tiredly.

She opened her mouth to speak, to try to talk Kyle into a mistake like she had last time, but nothing came out, other than ragged breaths. What was the use? What could she say to this beast of a human being? Whatever she tried, it wouldn't work. This unbelievable monster couldn't show mercy. It just wasn't going to happen.

She made ready to do one of two things. Drop her gun and surrender, or open fire and hope for the best. Then she saw. And smiled.

Kyle knew what was happening before he saw Catherine smile. There were two entrances to the break room. Cath was at one, the other was behind him.

Fear plunged an icy knife into his stomach. Behind him! He knew who it was before he even turned around. Who else would it be?

Sure enough, there, with a hand held to his bleeding head, the other holding his own gun, stood Warrick Brown. There was no fire, or fear, in his eyes. Only serenity.

As Kyle turned around to face (and kill) this new threat, he made his only mistake of the night. He pulled Greg's limp form with him.

Catherine's shaking hand steadied, and, mind free of all other influences, she fired.

The bullet struck Kyle Andrews just below his right armpit. This time there was no roar of pain and bestial rage. There was only a high pitched wail, the sound of one whose body has been invaded by something cold and lethal, who knew beyond all doubt that he was about to die.

Greg, released from Kyle's grip, dropped to the floor, unnoticed.

Warrick looked over at the woman he had come to respect above all others, to count among his most beloved and trusted friends, and mouthed two words. She agreed.

The sound of gunfire jerked Grissom back into consciousness. He opened his eyes, raised his head, and saw two things. The first was immensely satisfying and utterly hideous at the same time. The second was stamped on his brain forever.

The first was that, big as Kyle Andrews was, when faced with two guns at once he was just as mortal as the rest of humanity. He jerked and writhed pitifully, thrown back and forth by the laws of physics.

The second was that, once again, he saw Catherine, his best and most trusted friend, killing someone. But this time, there was no look of fear, or even concern, on her face. Not the look she had when Syd Goggle had fallen beneath her bullets.

This time there was a grin on her face. Joyless. Savage. Insane. Thankful for the opportunity. She would never regret this.

Not ever.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shooting was over and Kyle's ruined body fell to the floor. Catherine's smile instantly collapsed as she and Warrick raced over to the other occupant of the break room carpet.

"Greg! GREG! Are you okay? Oh my God! Greg!" Both were speaking at once, the words tumbling out of their mouths, all joy at the joint kill forgotten like a bad dream, all personal pain shoved aside.

Greg's eyes fluttered open. His lips moved. Catherine leaned forward to hear what he had said. When he repeated it, she smiled with genuine affection. No more mad rage. Just the one and only Catherine Willows.

"What did he say?" Warrick wondered aloud.

Still smiling, Catherine turned to him. "He said, 'I was winning.'"

The crime lab was a mess. More or less all of the CSI's were going to the hospital. Grissom, Warrick and David all had concussions, and David had a fractured leg to add to that. Catherine's arm was broken. Sara had a bruised face from where Kyle had smacked her before Greg had jumped in, and her neck was a raw red. Nick was, for once, unscathed. Greg had several fractured ribs, and a spinal injury, along with a broken nose. Mia Dickerson's back had been thrown out, and she had a few shallow cuts on her head from the glass. Five officers, Lent, Stevens, McIntyre, Foy, and Carter, were all dead.

It had been a long, horrible night, but it was finally over, Grissom reflected tiredly in the back of the ambulance. Greg, meanwhile, was too far gone on morphine to reflect on anything much. Nick was thinking that he was definitely putting in for extra pay and a vacation on this one, new director or not. Sara, though touched by Greg's selflessness, was wondering why he had charged on Kyle when she herself had been on the verge of shooting him with the gun he had dropped.

Catherine and Warrick were both thinking the same thing. What Warrick had said right before they had killed the giant man. The two words, inaudible, but, clear.

"For Holly."

The End.

AN: There's my story. Just the way I wanted it. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I hope to start on more fics sometime. In the meantime, I would like to thank you all for taking the time to read and review my story, and tell you that your comments made it well worth the effort.

Wdbydoglvr, beaujolais, Emerald124, Kegel, Shadowwind, Punctie, Psuedanonymous...

Thank you all so much!