Disclaimer: They're not mine
Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case
I was gonna hold out for more reviews but you've already given me tons and anyway, I'm far too happy dancing around to the legend that is James Brown to withhold chapters from you. Perhaps I'll be cruel and hold out on a chapter I actually like! Thank you for the epic amounts of reviews I got, it was really wonderful. Thanks to Megara1, Aleja21, icklebitodd (you know if you still aren't convinced, that's fine! Email me, if you like, and I'll try to win you over...), Ladybug07, katie, JennCorinthos, dawn2323 (that's a brilliant compliment – thank you so much!), cherishedcrush, Shelbers, Daisyangel, EmoCSIDork, MissyJane and Review1234.
I'll plug my Live Journal community for writers once again (write impulsive – with an underscore) because aboxforpandora joined up yesterday and that was fantastic. See my profile for more info if you love creative writing. Thanks again. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx
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Wake The Hope. Chapter Five. Pull Together
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"Advancement only comes with habitually doing more than you are asked."
GARY RYAN BLAIR
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It's Nick grinning face that greets her when she next opens the door. She's had Nate for five days now and has slowly slipped into the role without even realising it. Sure, she'd run into some issues along the way but nothing she couldn't handle – or rather, nothing she couldn't find in the hefty childcare book Grissom had given her. That thing had become her bible.
"Call for a handyman?" he asks with a smirk. She laughs; she'd asked at work the previous night if anyone would be able to come round and give her a hand baby-proofing the apartment. That was another thing that had changed about her, too – she wasn't afraid to ask for help anymore.
"Please don't tell me you wear that on a regular basis," Sara remarks, looking at his tool belt. He glances down at it.
"What's wrong with it?" he protests and she shakes her head. "You don't go for the Village People look?"
"Thanks for coming by; there's a whole load of stuff to fit." Sara lets him in and tips out the grocery bag of equipment Warrick brought round a couple of days ago.
"Wow – that is a lot of stuff. He really needs all this?" Nick stares in wonderment. Sara shrugs her shoulders.
"I'm telling you, the kid's taken to crawling at lightening speed." She wanders over to the playpen in the corner where Nate lies on his back, intrigued by the colourful activity centre above his head and finding great delight in the various sounds it makes. She smiles at him. "Your Uncle Nicky and I have just got to sort out making this place safer for you, baby Nate. If you need anything, just give us a shout – okay?"
Nick chuckles to himself at Sara's conversation style and gets to work as Sara hands him a safety latch.
"So, hey – what do you think about the case?" Sara's voice sounds muffled to Nick who is lying on her kitchen floor with his head in a cupboard. She is wandering around the room putting plug socket covers into every nearby power point.
"I should've known – your shift finished about an hour ago and you're still thinking about work," he answers with a smirk and receives a poke in the stomach from a screwdriver. "It's a tough one."
"You think we'll get him before he strikes again?"
"Doubt it." Nick mutters. "It's cases like these that are just so wrong. It makes you feel sick – there's no real connections, no evidence – all we're doing is hanging around waiting for the guy to kill someone else and hope he slips up."
"Case getting to you?" she asks. Nick sighs, his head still in the cupboard. He had to admit, everytime he saw the young women with their staring dead eyes, for just a second, they always had the face of one of his sisters.
"Sort of. You know, I'm surprised you're so cool about it," he tells her with frankness. She shrugs her shoulders again.
"Me too – but I guess I'm just...happy." she offers him a smile as he pulls his head out of the cupboard and looks at her.
"You look happy." he comments, sounding almost surprised.
"Tired as hell, though," she adds with a grin just as there's another knock at the door. This time it's Catherine who stands in the hall, surrounded by various boxes and equipment.
"You won't believe the amount of stuff I found in my garage. High-chair, baby carrier, car-seat – you name it, I got it," she reels off the list with attitude. Sara laughs.
"Thanks, Catherine – you are officially the best," she says, allowing the woman into the apartment.
"What about me?" Nick complains from the floor much to Catherine's amusement.
"Oh you too, Nicky," she assures him, giving Catherine a hand lugging in one of the boxes from the hall. Nick exchanges glances with Catherine.
"Well someone's in a very good mood," Catherine comments, looking to Sara whose face is plastered with a beam.
Sara opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by two beeping pagers.
"Ow, crap." Nick curses, banging his head on the cupboard door as he reaches for his pager.
"Me and you both, Nicky," Sara chirps, holding up her own pager. "I'll just grab Nate and we can go." Catherine waves her hand dismissively.
"Forget it, kids – both of you go, I'll watch Nate." Catherine offers. Sara smiles, it's how it's been lately – everyone pitching in to give Sara a hand in looking after Nate.
"Thanks, Cath." Sara calls, briefly kissing the baby boy on the forehead before she and Nick dash out of the door.
"No problem," comes Catherine's reply and standing in the quiet apartment, she picks up a screwdriver and looks contemplatively at the bag of safety equipment. "Well if Uncle Nicky can handle it..."
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Grissom, Nick and Sara survey the woman sprawled, stripped, in her own doorway. The carefully-wiped surfaces around the body, the escalated number of punches to the face, the single deep slice to the throat; the three of them look at each other.
"I'd estimate the time of death to be about four to five hours ago," Dave Phillips tells them, taking the liver temperature. He glances at his watch. "So at about –"
"Two am." Nick supplies, not even needing to check. Grissom nods to him and Sara who step into the apartment and begin a futile search for prints or fibres.
"Try to get what you can," Grissom instructs them. "I'm going to see if any of the people in the building have got anymore information on this."
"This brings the count up to three now," Nick mutters, photographing the scene before the coroner takes the body of Susanna Jacques, 29, away. "How long is this gonna go on for?"
Sara doesn't reply, intently dusting the tiled hall floor out in front of the door.
"It just isn't right..." Nick goes on.
"Nicky – "
"I know none of the cases we work on are ever right but serial killers are just messed up..."
"Nick! Shut up and bring that camera over here," Sara orders, not taking her eyes off the floor. "I've got a partial hand-print here." Nick rushes over and peers at it closely.
"Too big to be the vic's palms," he observes excitedly, clicking away. She twirls the finger-printing brush deftly between her fingers and smirks at her co-worker.
"See? We're getting somewhere," she chirps. "Lighten up, Nicky." He laughs.
"I never thought it'd be you saying that to me, Sar." he replies. "It must be bad."
Sara rolls her eyes and gives him a shove.
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