Author's note: Now to find out what's been happening back in vegas. Enjoy. Oh and a plus? I'm almost done chapter 16.
A special thanks to El Gringo Loco for helping me get facts straight for future chapters and make this story more believable.
Spoilers: I will generally tell what spoilers the chapters contain. In this Chapter: Harvest, slight Sounds of Silence, a bit sounds silimilar to feeling the heat...
Summary: When Ecklie chooses Grissom's team to head to a conference in London, the Las Vegas CSI nightshift couldn't be more excited. Then their plane crashes in the sea. Now Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Warrick, Sara, and Greg are stranded on a deserted island and their only way home is to survive.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.
Surviving the Storm
Chapter 15: Falling Apart
"Mrs. Harmon, I'm sorry to tell you that your son died of drowning, but if it is any consolation, I believe he died saving a life," Chris Marez explained to a woman in her early fifties.
"He saved someone?" the woman asked, teary-eyed.
"I believe so," Marez said encouragingly. Mrs. Harmon gave him a watery smile.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, turning to walk out of the morgue. Marez smiled at her retreating back, but it faded as Captain Jim Brass and Dr. Albert Robbins flanked him.
"You know, if the evidence says Andrew Harmon murdered that girl, you're going to have to tell that poor woman the truth," Brass warned in a low voice.
"He jumped in the water after her!" Marez defended himself, spinning to face the two older men.
"To help her of harm her?" Brass asked, matching the young CSI's tone. Marez rolled his eyes.
"There you go again, Captain! You are always contradicting me!" he exclaimed, rounding on the older man. Doc Robbins stepped in.
"Now, Chris, no one is contradicting-"
"All do respect, Doctor, but you do it as much as he does," Marez said coldly.
"Maybe if you actually looked for evidence rather than concoct stories to tell the families, we wouldn't have to!" Brass shot back in defence of his friend.
"Listen!" Marez demanded, "I don't need you telling me how to do my job!"
"Then do it right!" Brass argued back, "The doc and I just got the SARC results back on Alicia Nelson and it shows that the hero on the slab raped her!"
"So you were keeping me out of the loop?" Marez accused angrily.
"No, we were just coming to find you!" Robbins tried to explain.
"What the Hell is going on here?" Todd Voles, the new graveyard supervisor, asked, making his way into the morgue.
"They kept me out of the loop about our case!" Marez accused to his boss.
"What?" Voles asked, rounding on the Doc and Brass.
"We found out the victim had been raped by Andrew Harmon and we were going to find Marez, but he had already compromised the case by telling Mrs. Harmon that her son was a hero," Brass explained, glaring at the younger man, "Maybe you should teach your CSIs how to do their jobs, Voles!"
"Now you're out of line, Brass!" Voles said rising. He took a step towards Brass, but the effect was lost when Brass advanced like a raging pit bull.
"That's enough!" Robbins shouted, uncharacteristically. Everyone froze for several minutes, before Voles seized Marez by the arm.
"Let's go do our jobs, Chris," Voles ordered.
"At least Grissom's team knew how to do their jobs," Brass stated snidely.
"We're not Grissom's team," Voles said coldly, turning momentarily to shoot Brass an icy stare.
"Obviously!" Brass replied, just as icy as Voles. Then he watched, scowling, as Voles and Marez exited the morgue. He and Doc Robbins stood in silence for a moment.
"What has gotten into you?" Al asked softly after a moment.
"What?" Jim asked, confused.
"You never argued with Gil, or Nick, or Warrick like that," the doctor said softly. He saw the surly detective's face soften.
"They knew what they were doing," Brass repeated, looking at the floor, "I trusted them."
"We all did, but we can't try to make this new team like them," Robbins said wisely. Brass snorted.
"I know that better than anyone, Doc. But I gave them a chance and they just can't hack it. They're a team the same calibre of what Conrad Ecklie used to be," he answered, staring Robbins in the eye. Al got it.
"They're the B team," he said, "But we've just got to make the best of it."
"Yeah, while crime lab's rank slips from second best to twenty-second best. They're all politicians, not scientists," Brass growled. Albert hazarded a small chuckle.
"Gil wouldn't have like them," he said. Brass smiled affectionately.
"Gil would've lost his temper with them a long time ago," he said, turning to answer his ringing cell phone, "I'll see you later, Doc. I've got to meet with Ecklie."
He turned and walked down the hall. Sooner than he had anticipated, he was inside the horribly plain office, staring at the sombre face of Conrad Ecklie.
"So, I here there are problems between you and my CSIs," the other man started.
"I'm adjusting," Brass quipped. Ecklie laughed.
"Just go out and say it, Brass. You don't think they're up to par," he guessed.
"I don't agree with some of their tactics," Brass explained. Unlike Grissom, who would have told Ecklie flat out what he thought of the new team, Brass was more in tune with the office politics.
"Well, you're not alone in that view. I can't even begin to count the number of times around the lab that I have heard the nightshift being criticized and compared to Grissom's team in the last two weeks. I have lab technicians who are checking up on case progress through detectives and evidence being checked up on by detectives," Ecklie explained, and Brass knew that he and Sofia Curtis were those detectives.
"And?" Brass questioned.
"And I want this lab to recognize the fact that Grissom and his team are gone. They're never coming back. I handpicked this team, Brass. They are the best. I know you have had some conflicts with them, but it would really help me out if you would show the rest of the lab that you accept them," Ecklie explained. Brass almost snorted.
"One problem, Ecklie. I don't. I'm not going to go about misleading people. That is your job, not mine," he said coldly, rising from his chair.
"Brass, be reasonable!" Ecklie called on his retreating back, "I have enough on my plate without this! The Stokes' keep calling, wanting more details about my role in sending Nick on that plane! It's not as if it were my fault, but Judge Stokes is insistent. Not only that, the sheriff is coming to me for the political details-" he continued.
"Good day, Ecklie," Brass said, exiting the office. His beeper rang, and once again he was hurrying off to his next destination: Desert Palm Hospital.
When he got there, he was lead to a hospital bed, occupied by Mark Sidle, Sara's older brother.
"What happened to you, Mr. Sidle?" he asked. The man was heavily bandaged and it seemed to pain him to talk.
"Care accident," Mark said groggily.
"Something you should know, Captain Brass," a snide voice said from the corner, "Is that Mark Sidle was stoned behind the wheel, weren't you, Mr. Sidle?"
"I haven't done that shit in a long time," Mark denied, trying to move to face Detective Ortega, but winced in pain.
"I called you, Brass, because I'm sure as a close friend of his sister's, you'd like to know," Ortega explained, looking at Mark like he was dirt.
"Thank you for the heads up," Brass said curtly, looking pointedly at the door. He was pleased that someone as cruel and stupid as Ortega got the hint. After he was gone, Brass turned to Mark.
"It is true?" he asked. Mark smiled ruefully.
"My mother is in a mental asylum. My father is dead. How do you think I'm coping? My little sister, the only family member I had left, is dead," he said.
"That's no reason to dope up," Brass told him. Mark laughed.
"You're right," he chuckled, "Maybe I am crazy."
This unnerved Brass, who now knew a little of his and Sara's past. He stood and stared at Sara Sidle's older brother and wondered how two people from the same family grew into two very different people. It was only when the nurse came to get him that Brass left. As he walked through the pale corridor, he shuddered involuntary. Hospitals had always given him the creeps. They were too much like morgues and nursing homes, two places he never wanted to end up, but he knew of people who were in both.
It was out of an act of gratitude and duty that he pulled out his cell phone once he was in the cool night air, and called the Sunnyside Retirement Home in San Diego. He waited for an answer and when he did, he enquired about Martha Grissom, Gil's mother. Brass had met the prominent, yet motherly woman that Gil had adored so much, once or twice prior to the plane crash. She was a kind, lively woman who spoke fondly (or rather signed and told Gil to interpret) of her only son. That's why it affected Jim so, when Gil's uncle had called and gave him the news that Martha was not getting on as well as she used to. Since her admission to Sunnyside, Jim had called to check up on her, partly because he liked her, and partly because of Gil. When Jim had been critically shot, it had been up to Gil to decide his fate. His friend did not pull the plug. Gil took a chance to see if he got better. Following the surgery, Gil made a point in stopping by to fill him in or to just hang out. Brass owed it to his friend. That's why he did it.
After the call ended, Jim decided that he had better get back to the lab, but not before he saw Tina Brown walking and crying to a tall black man. Deciding not to pry Brass hurried on his way, receiving another page as he was driving.
By the time Jim arrived in the lobby, Sam Braun was struggling to control his temper for the umpteenth time as.
"She's definitely Catherine's daughter," Lily Flynn sighed from behind him, as she put her head in her hands.
"Why-" he couldn't finish because his voice was constricted with anger.
"She's a teenager, Sam," Lily said, the annoyance present in her voice, coupled with worry.
He watched her movements with frustration. It wasn't directed at Lily, but at Lindsey. He had never had to deal with a teenage girl before, and it was harder than he had anticipated. After Catherine's funeral, Lindsey had been quiet, always alone in her room, but lately, her behaviour was changing. Only two weeks after the funeral, Sam and Lily had been called to Lindsey's school on reports that she had been fighting. When asked about this, Lindsey wouldn't talk, but she would run to her room and slam the door. Her grades slipped. Then she started sneaking out at all hours. Now when Sam and Lily had been teenagers, they had snuck out their fair share. Lily had told him Catherine had tried every opportunity to ditch her mother, and he had always turned a blind eye when his sons had their midnight rendezvous, but that was then. A lot had changed since he and Lily were young, and even since Catherine, Walt, and Tony were young. There were so many dangers, not just in a town like Vegas, but everywhere. He had already outlived two of his children.
Before Catherine took that ill-fated voyage, he had been trying to do right by her. He gave her money so that she and Lindsey could live comfortably. He helped her when her co-worker was in danger. He was back with her mother, and they had taken a few trips as a family. Still, Catherine had her reasons for distrusting him. He was a suspect in a few of her cases. She discovered he was actually a murderer in one of them. But most of all, he had broke her mother's heart all those years ago. Now it seemed that the only way Sam was ever going to make it up to her was by taking care of Lindsey. He had never done right by Lily, but he was damn well going to do right by Catherine and Lindsey. Even if the latter made it difficult for him.
"Did Lindsey sneak off again?" Brass asked, knowing that it was the most likely cause for this visit.
"Yes," Lily answered, for Sam was in no fit to talk. Brass sighed. It was the second time this week Lindsey had taken off without telling anybody.
"I'll get on it," he assured them, walking out the doors and to his car.
While her grandparents worried, Lindsey Willows was not riding in cars with boys or sneaking off to parties with her friends. She was standing beside the Bellagio Fountains, just watching as the water ran in a cycle. When she was little, her mother used to bring her here all the time. Most times it had just been Lindsey and her mother watching the water fall. Occasionally Uncle Gil had joined them, claiming he would never miss an opportunity to hang out with his two favourite girls. Even rarer still were the times her dad would come with them. Lindsey had loved the water, any kind of water, not just the swirling fluid in the fountains. She had loved swimming in pools, or on the beachfront of her grandmother's lake lot, or even just running through the sprinkler on a hot day. Her mother had always been right there with her, in the pool, at the lake, even chasing her through the sprinkler. Lindsey leaned over the edge stared at her reflection. Uncle Gil had always told her how she resembled her mother. Was he right? She couldn't even ask him. Lindsey leant over and scooped some of the cool liquid in her hands and let it drip through her fingers, joining her falling tears in creating ripples in her image in the water.
"Lindsey?" a familiar voice asked. She stiffened and used her dry hand to hurriedly wipe the tears from her eyes before turning to face Captain Jim Brass. She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she stared at his approaching form.
"Yeah?" she asked as he came to a stop, leaning on the low edge of the fountain.
"You know, your grandparents are worried sick," Brass tried. She turned to watch the water fall from its high arc.
"You know, Lindsey, you really need to stop this," he continued.
"Why?" she asked, not comprehending why it was so bad to go to the one of her favourite places in the world. A place where her mother loved just as much as she did.
"You are all your grandparents have. If something ever happened to you, they would be heartbroken. This world is a-"
"Dangerous place and I must be careful," Lindsey interrupted, rolling her eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Mom told me."
"Then why are you still being careless with your safety? Do you think she'd want you to sneak off late at night, into the streets of a city that showed her so many horrors? Do you think she wanted that for you?" Brass asked, trying to catch her eye.
"You don't know what I think and you don't know me!" she exclaimed, emotion seeping out into her voice. She fought back tears as she stared determinedly back at him.
"I knew your mother, Lindsey. You have her eyes, her face, and her personality. You have her willpower, her desire to be free, and her stubbornness. You even fight back emotions the same way she did. I know it hurts, but in time, it won't as much. Rebelling against the pain won't bring Catherine back, Lindsey," he told her, and for this she resented him. She didn't want his sympathy, nor did she want him talking about her mother like he knew her inside out. The only person, who could have ever had a chance of talking to Lindsey about Catherine that way, would have been Uncle Gil. Not even her grandmother or aunt could have talked to Lindsey about that much of her mother's personality.
"But it sure helps me," she retorted scathingly, "Now are you going to take me back to the police station?"
"Yes. Let's go," he sighed, defeated, as he led the teenager back to his car. On the drive back to HQ, Brass wondered is Grissom would have had better luck with Catherine's mini-me, while Lindsey sat in the back, wishing she could turn back time, that her mother was still alive.
And as Brass laid awake that night in bed, he put aside the knowledge that the US Coast Guard was trolling the Altlantic, looking for the bodies of the crash, and he too wished that the Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Sara, Warrick, and Greg were still alive.
TBC