A/N: The usual disclaimers apply.The characters aren'tmine, no money is exchanging hands, etc

Grissom rose from the floor, pushing himself with one hand to take some of the pressure from his creaking knees. Once he was fully upright, he lifted his head and found himself staring into the barrel of a gun only two feet from his face. His eyes widened, his heart pounded, and his breathing grew shallow, but aside from these subtle signs he appeared calm. His gaze moved from the weapon up to the face of a young adult male.

"Don't move!" the man yelled, the volume startling in the silence. "I'll do it, man, I'll shoot!" Sweat poured down the man's face, but his hands held the gun steady. "Hands up, now!"

Slowly, Grissom raised his arms away from his body, fighting to regain control of his breathing as he felt himself grow light headed. "You don't need to do this," he told the young man, his voice low and calm. "Whatever you've done, shooting me is only going to make it worse."

"I ain't done nothin', man! That's the thing! You cops say I did it, but I didn't, but you ain't gonna believe me, I know it, so hey, if I'm goin' to jail, might as well take one o' you anyway, right?"

"I'm not a cop," Grissom corrected gently. "I'm a scientist. If you're innocent, I can prove it. But if you shoot me, you lose any chance you might have had." He kept his focus on the eyes staring back, praying to see some calm enter the gaze.

The young man's chest heaved erratically. "The cops held me for fifteen hours, kept saying they know I did it. Where were you then!"

Grissom's mouth tightened for a moment. "I didn't know the police were questioning a suspect," he bit out. "They should have contacted my team." His pulse started speed up, and he took deep breaths to stay calm. This was not the time to lose his temper. "In fact, you may have grounds to file a complaint against the officers who held you."

His calm demeanor was working, the tension in the man's shoulders lessened and his breathing steadied. "You serious? This ain't some story you're tellin'?"

"May I ask you a question?"

The gunman hesitated before giving him a jerky nod.

"What were the names of the officers who held you?"

"Shit man, I don' know. Ferminsky? Formsky? Some sky shit like that."

A bad feeling started forming in Grissom's gut. "Fromansky?"

"Yeah, that's the dude," he affirmed with a sharp nod. "And he had some jerk named Murdock with 'im."

Grissom heaved a heavy sigh. "May I ask another question? Why did you come here?"

"They kep' saying all this terrible shit man, 'bout how I raped this girl with a knife! And cut the skin off her hands, and fucking scalped her, and…" his voice trailed off with a sob. "And they had these pictures of this girl, and this blood, and they wouldn't get out of my head, man! Those cops let me go, and I was cryin' like a baby 'cause I couldn' believe anyone could do that to someone, ya know? I mean, I ain't stupid, I know there's some shitty people out there, but man, that blood, and that poor girl…" Tears ran down his face and more sobs escaped, and the hands holding the gun began to shake.

Carefully, with his hands still held high, Grissom took a step forward. "There are some terrible people out there," he spoke softly. "And it's my job to help put them in jail so they can't do it again. That's what I was doing, looking for more evidence to find the killer."

"How're you s'posed to find this guy if you're going after me?"

"I wasn't," Grissom answered firmly. "I promise you, at no point in our investigation were you ever a suspect."

"You promise! And how do you know? I ain't told you my name?"

Grissom's arms ached, the continued adrenaline rush drained him, but he stayed focused on the young man in front of him. "I know because I interviewed our only suspect two hours ago, and it wasn't you."

"So you got some evidence saying this guy did it?" the gunman asked hopefully.

"Yes, we do." Grissom cocked his head towards his kit. "May I show you something?"

The young man chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before deciding, "Left hand only. And go slow!"

Grissom took three careful steps towards the silver box and lowered himself to his knees, reaching out with his left hand to keep his balance. He retrieved three bindles, each misshapen with their contents. He rose and held the paper envelopes out for the other man to see. "During the interrogation, the suspect spoke of things he couldn't have known without being present during the crime, and referred to things we didn't know. I came back to find that evidence, which I did. With this evidence, and the evidence collected earlier, I have no doubt we'll get a conviction."

Finally, the gunman showed signs of calming down. "And I can complain 'bout those cops, right?"

"Yes. I don't know the whole story, but I believe Officers Fromansky and Murdock were completely out of line." Gil caught the gunman's gaze with his own and held it, allowing some of his ire to show. "Not only do they lack the authority to question a suspect on their own, they should have called me to process you. The fact that they didn't tells me they knew what they were doing was wrong."

"Yeah man, 'cause that was messed up. Those pictures, I mean, I ain't ever seen a dead person before, and now she won't leave my brain…"

"Yes, it was terrible, but we have the man who did it," Grissom interrupted gently, trying to regain control of the situation before the other man grew too distraught "I understand why you're upset, and I don't blame you. If you give me the gun, we can go to the station now to file the complaint, and no one has to know what happened here."

The gunman's eyes widened, and the tension returned. "Oh shit, what'd I do, pulling a gun on a cop, oh man, I totally screwed up this time, my mom always said I'd end up in jail, I'm too stupid to do anything else, and she was right and I'm so screwed-"

"It'll be okay," he quickly reassured him. "It's not your fault, and I don't blame you." Grissom dropped the bindles back into his case and took a couple of careful steps forward. "It will be okay," he repeated, reinforcing the words with his stare. "I can help you, you haven't done anything wrong yet."

The two men stared at each other in the still room, their strained breaths the only sound. The younger man's finger twitched and Grissom tensed, but the trigger wasn't pulled.

Both men jumped when Jim's voice sounded from downstairs, "Hey Gil, you up there?" They heard his footsteps on the stairs.

"There's still time, give me the gun now," Grissom urged. "You don't have to go to jail over this, you can go home."

"No, no, it's too late man, too late," the gunman panicked.

"No it's not, just give me the gun and it can all go away," he pleaded.

Brass's steps grew closer and Grissom wracked his brain for a way to resolve the situation before the captain reached the doorway. Slowly, he stepped forward, lowering his arms slightly, his gaze still locked with the other. He stopped when his chest was barely inches from the muzzle. "This is it," he pressed. "Any second now he'll walk through that door. You're not a bad man, no matter what they said in your interrogation. You don't have be become one now, either." He reached out with his left hand and put it over the gun. "All you have to do is let go."

Grissom's back was turned to the doorway, so he didn't see Brass's arrival, but when the gunman finally looked away Gil took action. He used the distraction to push the barrel away from his heart while moving to the other side at the same time. He wasn't fast enough, however, and with the bang of the weapon discharging he felt the fire of the bullet tearing through his shoulder. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor, turning in during the fall to see Brass at the door with his gun drawn. "Police! Drop your weapon!" he yelled.

"Jim!" Grissom choked out. "Don't shoot! Please."

The young man was frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, and Grissom wondered if he'd heard Brass's warning at all. He started to pull himself up when a shock of pain from his shoulder stole his breath. He groaned and fought to stay upright.

The young man dropped the gun at the sound. "No, no, wha'd I do, I didn't mean it! No way man, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Brass wasted no time. As soon as the weapon was released, he ran across the room, turned him around and pushed him against the wall. The young man put up no resistance. "Put your hands on your head," Jim growled. He holstered his gun and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "You're under arrest for shooting an officer." The shooter's right hand was pulled down and locked into a cuff. "You have the right to remain silent." The left hand was given the same treatment.

Gil sat on the floor and watched, feeling disassociated from the scene. The gunman was still muttering apologies and Brass was reading him his rights, yet he couldn't connect it with the standoff from only a few moments earlier. He looked down at his right shoulder, at the hole created by the bullet, and stared in wonder. In his career, he'd seen thousands of bullet holes, but this was the first time the hole was in his own clothing. He stared, and pondered whether or not it should look any different.

"Hey Gil, how're you holding up."

Grissom looked blankly at Jim, who was crouched down beside him. "When did you get here," he muttered quietly. "You shouldn't be here yet."

"Ah damn. Just hold it together a few more minutes, all right? The ambulance is on its way."

"No paramedics," he muttered. "They mess up the scene." He started to fall backwards, but Jim stepped around and caught him, letting the injured man rest against his chest as he settled onto his knees.

"Come on Grissom, stay with me here, you've already processed the scene, remember? You called and said you were bringing some stuff to the lab."

"Am I late for work?"

This time the mumbling was barely audible, and Jim tightened his grip. "Don't you do this, you hear me? We're gonna sit here and wait for the ambulance, and you're gonna get patched up and buy me a drink, you hear?"

"I killed him, I'm a murderer, my mom was right…" the shooter mumbled from his corner.

"Hey, shut up!" Brass yelled. He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the sirens. "Just one more minute buddy," he told Grissom. "That's all we need, just hold on for one more minute, it's all I ask."

Thirty seconds later the reinforcements radioed in, asking for his status. "I have one suspect in custody, haven't seen anyone else. CSI Gil Grissom is shot and is holding on but fading fast."

A moment later, he heard the officers downstairs as they cleared the first floor before moving up the stairs. He was torn between gratitude that they were following procedure, and impatience to get Gil taken care of. The battle didn't last long as two officers ran into the room, their guns drawn and pointed at the floor. The first one yelled clear to his colleagues down the hall and hurried over to secure the shooter while the second holstered his gun and walked over to Brass. "The paramedics are right outside," he reported. "We should have the house cleared in just moment."

Grissom mumbled something about shoes.

Brass heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw the three men wheel in the stretcher. Once Gil had been lifted away he stood unsteadily as the circulation returned to his feet. "Are you injured, sir?" a paramedic asked.

"Huh?" It took Brass a moment to realize who the man was talking to. "Oh, no, just sore, the floor is hard."

"And the blood?"

Brass looked down at his chest, shocked to see the red stain covering his shirt and jacked. "No, it's all his. Damn, no wonder he was fading out."

He watched the paramedics strap Grissom to the stretcher and wheel him off. After giving the uniforms instructions to book the shooter, he tried to follow but was stopped by Sheriff Atwater. "What the hell happened here, Captain?" the sheriff yelled.

"I killed him, I'm evil, I didn't want to really-" the shooter wailed.

"Shut up!" Brass yelled. He took a breath to calm himself before answering. "I'm not entirely certain. When I arrived, I found Gil Grissom being held and gun point by the young man over there. My arrival distracted the shooter, and Gil tried to use it to get away but was shot in the process. I arrested the shooter and called for backup."

"And how did you know to come here?" Atwater pressed.

"After interrogating our suspect, Gil came back to look for corroborating evidence. He called me and said he'd found it and was bringing it to the lab. When he didn't return, I got worried and came here."

"Did you fire any shots?"

"No sir. Shortly after shooting Gil, he dropped the gun on his own."

"I'll need your weapon anyway."

Brass placed his weapon in the sheriff's outstretched hand.

"They're taking Gil to Desert Palms. You can make your official statement there." He stopped and stared at the blood on Brass's suit. "Is that all Gil's?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Hey, uh, did the paramedics say anything about his condition?" Jim asked just as softly.

"No, they were rushing to get him to the ER." Atwater turned to look around the rest of the room. "This is the scene of the Jody Holcomb murder, isn't it?" At Brass's nod, he looked at Grissom's kit lying open on the floor. "If I let the night shift take this, think they can handle it?"

"It's pretty basic, not a lot to process. As long as everyone dots their i's and crosses their t's, we'll nail this guy."

"Good." The sheriff looked at Brass's suit. "Go home and shower before you go to the hospital. And call me as soon as you know anything about Gil's condition." He turned around and left.

Brass watched him leave, delaying the moment when he pulled out his cell phone and punched in the speed dial. "Hey, it's Jim. Listen, Catherine, I have some bad news."

TBC