Disclaimer: Yeah, I own CSI. That's why all of my stories end up on CBS. The whole 'Grave Danger' thing? Totally my idea! What's all this about Quentin Whozits now? (Insane rambling mode off. Please don't send the boys round to break my legs Mr. Tarantino)
Notes: This is set during that old series one fan favourite, 'The Strip Strangler', so spoilers and dialogue are present throughout. Basically, what I'm doing is, I'm writing a load of short little ficlets centred around the good old days of CSI yore, when young Greg Sanders was still a mere lab tech/chimpanzee, Gil Grissom didn't have a beard, and Conrad Ecklie was still the day shift supervisor. That is, until I get more eps of season 6 to go on. Enjoy! (Touch of Sandle, Greg slightly OOC.)
Warning: Rated T bordering on M for references to rape and sexual violence. You have been warned.
Sara slowly changed into clean clothes, a thousand thoughts zooming through her head at once. They were mostly memories of things said and done in the last few hours, such as…
"She's a young woman, brunette, tall for a female. And by all reports, she's steady. Has the right personality for a decoy operation."
And…
"You want to put yourself in the path of a psychotic killer?"
"I'm trained in weaponless defence."
"That's what turns him on -- women fighting back. Gives him a greater sense of power when he makes his final kill."
And best of all…
"They don't know him, until he rapes, tortures, and kills them."
Oh yeah, Sara Sidle was in a good place right now. Slipping her top on, she ran through all the reasons why she should do this. She'd get a chance to work with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the ultimate good guys of her childhood. Okay, so the guy in charge was kind of a prick, but you couldn't have it all your way. She'd be working undercover, again, childhood fantasy, and most importantly, she might get a chance to nail this fucker before he killed another innocent woman.
And, on the downside, she might well end up being that next woman. Shying away from this ugly thought, she ran through a few yoga exercises to calm the mind. That felt a little better.
"How's it going, Special Agent Sidle?"
Greg's voice. Right behind her. Out of nowhere. Okay, those exercises just went right out the window. She tried to force her heart back down into her chest, and spun around.
"Jesus, Greg! Don't ever do that again!"
Greg's playful smile slipped a bit. "Sorry. I kinda forgot the lab policy on sneaking up on co-workers."
"What do you want, anyway?"
The smile vanished entirely. In its place was a mixture of curiosity and concern. "I...er…heard. About the assignment" he clarified
Sara paused, and resigned herself for another wannabe knight in shining armour. "And?"
Greg didn't flinch at her slightly dangerous tone. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"
"Okay, look. Greg, I will have an entire Federal Agent team backing me up, and I'm not some helpless little girl who'd faint if she saw a drop of blood. I appreciate the concern, Greg, but I really don't…"
"That's not really what I meant." Greg cut her off, that expression of concern and curiosity still there. "I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, you could probably kick my ass to the ground. I just meant is this really worthwhile?"
Sara paused. She hadn't expected that, least of all from Greg. "What do you mean?"
Greg looked half-amused. "Well, Sara, what I mean is, this guy knows what he's doing. If Grissom's right, and painful though it is to admit, he usually is, then surely this guy was stalking those women for months, plotting his every move. You don't carry out a murder and clean-up of that level of professionalism on an impulse."
Sara was kind of thrown by this line of reasoning. Was Greg actually being logical about this. And, she had to admit, he had an interesting point. But Greg was still talking.
"Even if this bastard does turn up at the convenience store," he continued "do you think he's just gonna drop everything and go straight for you? Er, no offence intended…" Greg faltered at Sara's sudden intense stare. "I-I know he would…like to…I…er…what-what I'm trying to say is, he might already have a target, possibly more than one, and he might go after them first before turning his attention to you."
But that wasn't what Sara had picked up on. "How did you know that the convenience store was going to be the location for the op?"
Greg, relieved, straightened up and answered, truthfully. "You'd be amazed at the amount of stuff I know about inside the lab…Anyway, my point is, despite the fact that you 'match the victim prototype to a T'" Greg frowned slightly, his contempt for Culpepper's earlier words evident in his voice "and…er…then some, he might have enough self-control not to jump at you first chance he gets. Makes sense, right?"
If Grissom could have heard the young lab rat talking, thought Sara, he would probably have given him a raise right on the spot. Not only because he was trying to prevent Sara from flying into danger, but also because he was right. The argument made perfect sense. What had seemed like a brilliant idea now felt like the longest of long shots.
But, Sara reflected, what were her options? Sit here and do nothing while this sick freak went after another innocent woman? Wait for Grissom to keep stating the obvious as the body count rose higher and higher? Or take this, admittedly slim, but possible, chance?
She knew she had to try something. It was this or nothing. Grissom was just not moving fast enough. "Greg, I know it's not a guaranteed success. More than likely we won't get the guy, at least not on the first attempt, but it's worth a shot. Am I right?"
Greg grimaced, his first argument effectively dismantled. "Okay, maybe I am worried about you as well…"
Sara tried not to grin. "Knew it. Greg, I'm going to be fine. Like I told Grissom, I'm trained in weaponless defence, and I know tiger style kung fu. I think I just might be able to take this guy."
The knife was against her throat before she could even blink. Greg's eyes were cold and flat, his mouth an expressionless line, his hand steady, without a tremor. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
"This guy is probably faster than I am, and he almost certainly has a gun." Greg's voice was thick with tension. "All the kung-fu in the world won't help you against a loaded firearm. It's a cold truth of life, and death."
Sara, meanwhile, was writing a mental prescription for about a thousand sedatives. God knew she could use one now. Where the hell had that knife come from?
Greg flipped the switchblade out again, slower this time. "I think it would be smart to take this with you. That way, if he backs you into a corner, you might be able to castrate him before he rapes you, or better yet, you can take a swing at the throat."
He held the switchblade out, hilt first, to Sara. "I know you said you could never take a life. Don't let him take yours. And, if the only way is to kill him, just let all morality go, and don't be afraid to go crazy. He doesn't deserve to live. In my humble opinion."
Greg's face was still a mask, but his voice was full of emotion. Slowly, cautiously, Sara took the lethal thing, and closed it. She put it in her handbag, keeping the pocket open. She looked at Greg as if seeing him for the first time.
"Don't ever do that to me again." A pause. Then "Thanks."
Greg smiled, a small, frightened smile. "Good luck, Sara."
Fin (or is it?)