Archie lay, unconscious, under the paper white sheet of the rickety hospital bed. An ECG was hooked up to his chest, chirping a stream of metallic beeps at a steady pace to represent his heartbeat. There was an IV hooked up to his right arm, injecting saline into his system. His face was contorted in an expression of fright and misery in his troubled sleep.

By the door out of room 403 of the hospital were two men. One was a dark-skinned, grim-faced doctor who looked to have seen too many deaths to avoid an early retirement. The other was none other than Gil Grissom, stoically watching over his friend with the air of a father watching his son.

"He's lost a great deal of blood, has two cracked ribs, and is suffering from shock," said the doctor, reading from his clipboard.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Grissom, keeping his eyes upon Archie.

"He will have to spend a few weeks in hospital, and when he is released he will have to take some time off work," said the doctor. "But he should make a full recovery."

Grissom nodded soberly. At least he would be okay...he hadn't even been a CSI for three weeks. Already he had been in the emergency room and hooked up to an IV and ECG. But he knew they were lucky. They had had worse.

"He lost two point five litres of blood," said the doctor. "He'll have to have a transfusion."

"Can you tell me I exactly /I how long it'll take before he's back at work?" asked Grissom.

"He'll probably spend two weeks in hospital, and will have to take about that time off work once he's out," replied the doctor. "So about four weeks in total."

"Thank you, doctor," said Grissom. Then, leaving behind his very typical air of mystery, left the room and shut the door behind him.

---

There was no word to describe the atmosphere in the CSI conference room but 'tense'. Samuel Johnson could not have thought of a better one. 'Bleak' and 'frightened' were high on the least, but none made it past 'tense'. As was human nature, everyone feared the worst.

Catherine, Nick, Sara, Greg, and Brass all sat around the long table. Warrick and Dr Al Robbins were standing, and even Conrad Ecklie had made an appearance. Brass twiddled his thumbs. Sara bit her tongue, thinking hard. Nick's arms were crossed, in deep thought as well. Greg chewed nervously on his nails. Warrick paced near the door, and Catherine fiddled with a pen. Robbins leaned on the table with his hands. Ecklie was the only one who seemed remotely at ease, leaning against the doorframe.

I What a pig, /I thought Catherine, her thoughts directed at Ecklie. One of their own was in near critical condition, how could he be so calm? Did he even care?

Warrick ran his hands through his bushy hair. "Where the hell is he?" he said rhetorically, checking his watch.

They were all waiting for Grissom to return. They anxiously anticipated his word on Archie's condition.

"He'll be back soon," Catherine assured Warrick. "Grissom never misses a meeting."

"Doesn't mind being late, though, does he?" said Ecklie nastily. Sara took enough time off her thinking to shoot him an extremely dirty look. If there were two emotions the CSIs shared right now, they were concern for Archie and hatred of Ecklie (everyone except the latter, in any case).

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" he said, having noticed Sara's look. "I mean, he called this meeting, and it's already a half hour into it, and he's the only one who hasn't shown. Wouldn't you call that late?"

"Hey, listen, why don't you just shut the hell up?" barked Warrick suddenly. He couldn't restrain it. But Catherine agreed with him so much she didn't even bother to reprimand him. Seeing this, Nick piped up as well.

"Yeah man, he's also the only one who bothered to go and see Archie," he added fiercely. "I'm guessing the only reason I you're /I even here is because you have to make a good impression."

"That's not true," said Ecklie calmly, though he was taken aback at the abuse. "I arrived out of obligation to my duty to a lesser CSI."

"A 'lesser CSI'?" said Catherine, disgusted.

"You couldn't care less about whether Archie lives or dies," said Warrick, also appalled.

Ecklie did not reply to Warrick's accusation, but simply checked his watch.

Greg eagerly desired to join in the Ecklie-bashing, but he was relatively new himself and didn't really want to get on the bad side of someone so high up. Robbins said nothing in accordance with his nature, but simply shook his head and muttered under his breath, "No wonder I prefer the dead."

"Take it easy, Rick," said Brass. "He will be here."

The only person who wasn't really paying attention to this whole conversation was Sara. She had spared a moment to glare at Ecklie, but then had returned to her thoughts. So, did this mean that...

At that moment the door handle turned and the door slowly opened. The shadowy form of Gil Grissom entered, and shut the door behind him. He looked grim. All eyes trained upon him as he walked to the head of the long, sleek table and sat himself down. They was dying to hear the news of Archie's fate...

Everyone was relieved, but edgy, when Greg finally broke the awkward silence. "So...how's Archie, Gris?"

Grissom turned his serious eyes upward from his hands to look at Greg with a stern look. For a moment, the young CSI thought he was going to be told to be quiet, but then Grissom gave him a small smile. He opened his mouth to speak.

Everyone held their breath.

"The doctors say he should make a full recovery in a matter of weeks," reported Grissom. "He'll be in hospital for two, and then off work for another two, but he's going to be fine."

There was an audible sigh of relief from everyone in the room that sounded like a jet intake starting up. He would be okay...

I That was too close, /I thought Nick, staring at the table.

"It'll take a month before he's back at work?" asked Ecklie, the only one who hadn't exhaled a good deal of carbon dioxide into the air at Grissom's news. He merely seemed concerned that they would have slightly less manpower than before.

"Don't be I too /I worried about him, Ecklie," said Catherine sarcastically.

"Very well, I've heard what I came to hear," said the dayshift supervisor, and without so much as a 'toodle-oo', left the room.

"Scum bucket," growled Warrick, shaking his head.

"Okay, we need to get some people on that crime scene," said Grissom. "Greg, Sara, you guys and I will do that."

"We're already on a case," said Greg.

"You're on a new one now," said Grissom. "Catherine, Warrick, Nick, any chance you guys could interrogate Mr Sherman. I think he may still have some information."

"You got it," said Nick, standing.

"And have a look around his house," Grissom added.

"Yep," said Warrick, doing likewise.

"And if you find anything – "

"Are you in charge of my group, or am I?" asked Catherine, half-jokingly.

Grissom gave a small smile. "Sorry."

---

Catherine was the first one inside the house, followed by Nick and then Warrick.

"I'll take the living room," suggested Warrick.

"I'll finish what I was doing last time - printing the phone," said Nick. "Then I'll search the kitchen."

"Great, I'll check his bedroom," said Catherine. "If you find a weapon that could have been used, holler."

"Got it," said Warrick.

For the next while, they worked tirelessly to see if they could find any trace of evidence that would prove Sherman had something to do with it. He couldn't have physically done it, because he was in lockup at the time. But all the same, he could have arranged it.

Nick sprayed each knife he found in the kitchen with Luminol and hit the lights. There was blood on several, but as they were kitchen knives this was understandable. Still, wouldn't hurt to have them swabbed back at the lab.

In the living room, Warrick was having little luck. He could not find anything that might have been used to attack Archie anywhere. He was about to stop searching, when he noticed something. On the windowsill there were a few little round, dark marks. Warrick looked closer, hoping, and his hopes were fulfilled – they were fingerprints. He quickly collected them. Someone could have climbed through the window to get inside.

When they were all finished working (having searched the rest of the house, as well), they assembled by the front door.

"I collected some kitchen knives," said Nick. "They've got blood on them. I don't know if it's human or animal blood, but we'll find out soon."

"I found some prints on the windowsill in the living room," Warrick reported. "I'm guessing the perp could have gotten in through the window."

"I didn't get anything," said Catherine. "Or, anything of interest anyway."

"Well, let's get what we've got to analysis," said Nick. "Maybe they can get us a lead."