Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I have some of the DVDs. And Season 6 on pre-order.
A/N: Thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me. She rocks!
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He had accessed her medical records. The thought stunned her more than she thought possible.
Her heart clenched and a chill coursed through her as she desperately tried to temper the fear beginning to well up inside her. There were only three people in the world that knew she was pregnant. Grissom, her doctor and her doctor's nurse. The only way Lurie would know is if he had accessed her medical records.
Sara didn't know why she was so shocked, but she was. Yes, he had killed three people that she knew of, one of them right in front of her. He had been following her, stalking her for sometime and now he was holding her hostage. But somehow the idea that he had accessed her medical records made her feel exposed and violated. Not to mention petrified for the tiny life inside her.
Lurie sat beside her on the off white tiled floor with his back against the checkout counter. His knees were bent, and his hands almost carelessly clasping the gun hanging between his knees. His gaze fell on her. He was expecting an answer, but she turned her head away.
It unnerved her that she could feel his eyes on her, but Sara refused to look at him. Instead, she stared across at Brass. His head was resting against the wall of the inset checkout counter, partially obscuring a price list for organic produce and a reminder to all cashiers to check the bottom rack of shopping carts. His eyes were closed again, but she could tell from the set of his rugged face he was not relaxed or disinterested, just pretending to be so.
Lurie began speaking softly to her though she refused to look at him. "Several years ago, I actually took a vacation. I've never done that much, you know? It's always been about the work, but, there was a conference I wanted to attend in Capetown, South Africa. While I was there I went on a photo safari at a game preserve." He continued to eye her profile; looking for a reaction, waiting for her to give him some indication, some acknowledgement that she was hearing what he had to say.
He didn't want to upset her, but it really was for the best that she understand; there must be no lies or deceit. Nothing could come between them; she might not be happy at first, but she would understand in the long run he was only doing what was best for them. "A new male lion had recently defeated the previous master and taken over the pride. He was systematically slaughtering all of the young cubs so the females of the pride would stop nursing and go into estrus. He didn't do it out of any antipathy for his predecessor or a desire to hurt his mates. It was simply to ensure the fastest connection with the females of his pride and that his offspring were brought into the world as fast as possible." He paused, waiting for the meaning of his words to sink in.
Sara listened to him with a growing sense of horror mingled with repulsion. It took every ounce of self control she had not to overtly react to what he was intimating. When he continued, "We're going to have to get rid of it, Darling," she still refused to look at him, but she did move.
With an awkward, graceless dignity, she struggled to a kneeling position and knee walked over to Brass whose eyes had opened during the doctor's speech. She looked at him and indicated the space to his right with a jerk of her head, saying a terse "Scoot."
Brass quickly hid the smile that had begun to form and moved to his right as far as the counter would allow and Sara slid inelegantly to the floor at his left side, drawing her knees up in front of her, leaning her head back against the counter and closing her eyes. She was not going to look at him, or even remotely acknowledge what he was suggesting.
Lurie studied her troubled expression twisting his face; after a few minutes he rose to evaluate the situation in the parking lot.
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The lights could be seen faintly in the distance shortly before the sirens' sound reached the scene. The car was still some miles off when Grissom and the others at the scene noticed it.
Grissom was not surprised to see the patrol car heading toward the crime scene, nor was he surprised by the lights. They were far enough out in the desert that cell service was non-existent and radio coverage was spotty. Whenever there was a scene at one of these remote desert locations the arrival of a car was the only way to get messages to the patrolman on duty or make whoever else was working the scene aware of any new developments.
The sirens were unusual though; it was usually just the lights. A rookie driver, Grissom surmised and he went back to collecting.
When the car finally reached the scene, Grissom's attention was drawn by the sound of multiple car doors closing and he glanced up at the new arrivals. His eyes fell on the most recognizable of the group, the tall, thin form of Conrad Ecklie silhouetted by the headlights as he made his approach. He immediately began a mental inventory of reasons the Assistant Director would be in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night in the middle of this crime scene.
DB with connections? No, they didn't even have an ID on the vic, yet. High profile case? No, they weren't working any serials currently. This actually looked like natural causes; the only mystery would be how the body got here.
His suspicions of something unusual were confirmed when he noticed another figure trudging along a few feet behind Ecklie. The other man was carrying a field kit and looked like Johnson from swing. This is when Grissom realized it probably wasn't this case at all. Ecklie had brought another CSI to take over his case. There had to be a bigger case back in town.
Grissom stood from his crouched position as Ecklie approached. The Assistant Director waved the other man off, mumbling a terse "Wait here" and continued to where Grissom was waiting for him.
The night shift supervisor inclined his head. "Evening, Conrad. What brings you out tonight?" He felt a tendril of fear winding its way through his chest when he saw the look of distress on the man's face.
Ecklie waited until he was within inches of the other man before speaking. "Gil, we have a situation and I need for you to come back into town with me now."
Grissom noted he hadn't said 419 or DB or crime scene. "Define 'situation' for me, Conrad." He felt his heart rate increase slightly.
"A hostage situation." At Grissom's elevated eyebrow, Ecklie leaned further into the other man's personal space. "Gil, the most important thing right now is that you know that she hasn't been hurt…"
He moved from point A to point B without hesitation, immediately connecting the dots and suddenly felt the bottom drop out of his world. Unconsciously, he grabbed the other man's forearm and gasped out, "Sara?"
The younger man answered, "She's not hurt. Get in the car, Gil. Let's not waste any time…I'll tell you what I know on the way."
Face pale, mouth agape it took him a minute to process what his boss was saying. It finally filtered through the cloud of disbelief and terror and he nodded once, brusquely and began walking toward the patrol car with out a glance back. He stopped long enough to hand Johnson the keys to his SUV without saying a word and then continued on. Ecklie followed.
The little he knew was conveyed fairly rapidly as they faced each other in the back seat of the cruiser.
The call had come from the manager of the store…what they had at first assumed was a robbery in progress: a man was pointing a gun at two of the store's customers. By the time the first officer arrived on scene, people outside the store had reported shots fired and it was no longer a robbery but a hostage situation. It wasn't until the last flurry of negotiations to release some of the hostages that anyone on the outside knew there were two members of the LVPD in the store. It was then that they also learned who the assailant was.
"Lurie! Oh, Jesus, God," Grissom's voice came out in a pained moan and he bent his head into his hands. "This wasn't random. He's seen Sara," his voice filtering through his thick fingers was laced with shock and alarm. Sara was in danger. Sara and the baby.
Ecklie sighed, "I didn't want to assume that but one of the released hostages confirms that he was concerned with Sara, seemed very attentive to her."
Something Ecklie said earlier caught up with Grissom and he raised his head suddenly, "Wait, wait…shots fired? You said nobody was hurt, though, right?"
The look Ecklie gave him was filled with trepidation and sympathy. "No, Gil, I said Sara wasn't hurt and she's not. All of the released hostages confirmed neither she nor Brass had been injured, but…" he took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to say what needed saying.
There was no way to phrase it to make it easier for Grissom to hear.
"Lurie and the manager exchanged gunfire. A customer was wounded, non life threatening. But the manager was killed," his voice softened, as if by saying it in a softer tone he could ease the implication.
"Oh, God, Sara…" He leaned his head against the back of his seat, fighting the panic that threatened to engulf him. Losing control would do no good. It took him a moment but he managed to settle his rampaging thoughts.
Cautiously regulating his tone, Ecklie asked, "Are you going to be OK to go to the scene? Is there some…"
Grissom held up a hand in a stopping motion and just sat in silence for another minute and then, Ecklie watched as something changed in the other man. It was almost like watching him don another skin. His breathing regulated, his shoulders straightened and the mask was put into place. He leaned forward and spoke to the sheriff's deputy, his voice brisk, but polite, "Can you go any faster?"
He needed to be there. He needed her to know he was there.
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Lurie was on the phone again. Brass craned his head as far as he could from his seated position and noted the doctor pacing back in forth through the main aisle of the store. He was agitated but did not appear to be out of control. It looked like he might be on this call awhile. It was a moment of reprieve for both of them.
Brass turned to the woman at his side. She had not spoken since moving to sit beside him and he was unsure what to say to her at this point. Her eyes were closed almost as if in denial, and her knees were drawn as close to her body as she could manage as if she was using them as a shield.
Sara was pregnant? Jesus Christ, that amplified the whole nightmare to an unbelievable degree. He thought back to the moment the shooting started and tackling her to the ground. If he had known she was pregnant he probably would have hesitated and she could be dead now. But tackling her like that, it could have hurt the baby…hell, the stress of this whole situation had to be detrimental to her and the child she carried.
Shit.
"You doing OK?" he asked, just for something to say.
"Yeah, I'm OK," she answered in a tired voice. "I just want this to be over." Her voice trembled slightly.
"I know, Doll. Me, too."
He paused a moment and then tried for a lighter tone. "So, is it anybody I know or do I have to introduce my shotgun to the new man in your life?"
She gave him a dark smile, "Brass, you know I love you, but a shotgun wedding reference probably isn't the most tasteful joke you could make at the moment," she intoned at the same time jerking her head towards the aisle where the manager's body still lay sprawled in a pool of his own blood.
"I hadn't really thought of that;" he didn't want her thinking of that right now, so he continued, "but then, you already know what a twisted bastard I am, so, I'm not real worried about shattering any of your illusions." He grinned tightly at her.
They were silent again for a few minutes listening to Lurie saying the same things to the negotiators he had already said a dozen times over the last few hours. Then Brass stated flatly, "It's not gonna work."
"What's not going to work, Brass? Lurie's plan or the negotiators' plan?" Her voice was much steadier and calmer than she felt.
"Your attempt to distract me from nosing into your private life," he answered dryly, and he leveled a piercing gaze at her.
Sara couldn't help it, she gave a snorting laugh at the "Give me a break" expression on his face. She leaned into him and playfully nudged his shoulder with her own. "No introductions will be necessary."
It was his turn to snort, "It's about damned time."
Sara's voice held a neutral, innocent tone. "Oh, I didn't know you wanted me to be with Greg so much." Her eyes flashed devilishly at him.
Jim Brass started, minutely, until he caught sight of her expression. "You're a funny girl." His words were thickly laden with his usual sarcasm.
"Can't hang out with you for six years and not pick up a few tricks," she nudged him again, still half smiling at him.
"Yeah," his tone was droll, "I have a rapier like wit and I know how to use it." This time he nudged her. "How long?"
"Over a year."
"The thing with Nick?"
"No, actually about a month before that. Right after the murder at Desert State Hospital."
She was exhausted. She just wanted to finish her shower, go to bed and sleep through until next shift but whoever was knocking on her door had other ideas. Damn.
She decided to ignore it but the knocking persisted as she toweled off and wrapped herself in a towel. The knocking stopped. Good.
Then her cell phone started ringing. "For God's sake," she grumbled to herself as she moved into the living room to get the phone. She checked the display; Grissom.
"Sidle."
"Why aren't you answering the door?" his voice was clipped.
Her irritation at his tone came out a little sharper than she intended. "Because I don't make a habit of answering the door naked and wet."
Wow. That came out sounding much more inappropriate than she meant for it to.
And the ensuing silence had to be the loudest she'd ever heard.
She sighed. "I was in the shower, Gris."
He cleared his throat. "Uh, I'll, uh, I'll wait out here until you're dressed." And he hung up.
She gave the phone in her hand a raised eyebrow, then went to make herself presentable for company. She brushed her teeth and hair then put on her most comfortable jeans and a camisole with her soft chambray shirt unbuttoned over it. She debated making him wait while she dried her hair and put on some make-up, but her irritation gave way to practicality; she was too tired and he didn't care what she looked like anyway.
She did put on some lip gloss, though.
Sara figured he was just checking up on her. The case would have been hard for her no matter what but the extra special bonus of being attacked and threatened by a serial rapist certainly added to the difficulty. So, she'd reassure him and he'd leave so she could get some sleep.
It was nice of him to care, really.
When she opened the door, she tossed him a soft smile, "Come on in." The slim brunette stepped back invitingly.
He entered and waited as she closed the door. She'd expected him to move off and take a seat on her couch, but was surprised when she turned around to find him just a few inches from her, staring at her with a dark intensity. A lump to formed in her throat and she gave him another tentative smile, "I'm OK, Gris. Really."
He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly back and forth. When he spoke his voice was full of raw emotion. "I'm glad you're all right, Sara, because I sure as Hell am not."
Her voice was soft as she answered him, "Everything turned out fine; there was nothing you could do and he didn't hurt me anyway." Her slender fingers fumbled with the edges of her shirt, as she tried to assuage both his and her own fearful memory of the events of the past few days.
Grissom shook his head and sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's not Adam Trent…ok, it's a little bit about that. But it's more about me. Me and you. Us."
Her stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. He could not stand this close to her and say things like that. He just couldn't.
She waved her hand at her sofa. "Sit down, Grissom. Do you want something to drink?" She asked moving away slightly, trying to increase the distance between them. His admission had put her more that a little off kilter.
"No," capturing her hand in his, he moved over to the couch and sat down, tugging her down to sit beside him. "No, I just want to talk to you…I just want…" his thumb was absently stroking soft circles across the back of her hand and she wondered if he realized how distracting his touch was.
He still seemed to be struggling to find the words he needed but she was glad for the respite from having to pay attention to words when there was honest-to-God physical contact happening. There was no way, there was just no way she could remain unaffected by his touch, even if it was something as small as his thumb on her hand.
She gave a silent sigh. Just because she had promised herself she wasn't going to moon over him or chase him anymore it didn't mean she had stopped loving him or stopped wanting to take measurements of every part of his body with her tongue.
He finally started speaking again. "When I asked you to come to Vegas it didn't turn out the way I thought it would. I don't know if I hadn't thought through the implications of the supervisor/subordinate thing or if I thought they'd put Brass back in charge…but it didn't turn out the way I wanted." There was an honesty and a clarity in his tone. Almost as if by hearing his own words made what he was feeling real.
"How did you want it to turn out, Grissom?" she asked tenderly, a glimmer of hope lighting her heart.
He shook his head. "I wanted to be near you, to work with you, to be your friend until…until you were ready…"
"Ready for what? You can't mean ready for a relationship because we could have started that in San Francisco long before I came to Vegas," she tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "We could have started a relationship any time after I got here. I don't think I've ever made a secret of how I felt about that."
"No," he drew the vowel out several times over. "I knew you wanted to be with me…I didn't understand it. I still don't, but I knew it. I just.." he shook his head again and started over, trying to find the words that would make everything that had transpired between them better somehow. "How old were you when we met?"
"I had just turned twenty-four," she rose from the couch and went into the small kitchen and got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She needed to distance herself a little. Just to allow her to gain a little perspective to breathe. She returned immediately and held out the bottle to him.
"I had just turned thirty-nine and there you were, this beautiful, amazing, intelligent, generous child," he accepted the bottle from her and tugged her back down beside him again, not letting go of her hand, "and I never wanted anything so bad in my life. I knew if I had you I'd never be able to let you go. You hadn't lived at all and if I…if we were together with you so young, you'd always wonder what you missed and someday you would leave me to find out. I had to wait for you to grow up and live, so that when you were ready it would last."
He let go of her hand long enough to open the water bottle. He took a long pull and grabbed her hand again.
She wanted to argue that she was very mature when she was twenty-four, but it would have been a lie. She was intellectually mature, but socially and emotionally she was probably behind the curve. So, really, there was no honest argument in her. He was right.
"Then I asked you to come to Vegas and I thought everything would work out and everything seemed headed in the right direction at first and then," he gripped her hand a little tighter, "then it all started falling apart and instead of getting closer to you I ended up further away. I didn't even have our friendship anymore and I was scared and hurt and defensive and angry. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry." His eyes held the same hope her heart did.
He drew her hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the palm. She wondered absently if he realized he was kissing the hand that had been scarred in the explosion; she had always thought of her hand and her heart being scarred together that day.
"These last few months, I thought we were at least getting back to being friends. Then, yesterday, after…" he swallowed hard. "Of course it shook me, seeing him threatening you…with his hands on you…I've never been so terrified," he shuddered. "But afterwards, when I asked you if you wanted to be removed you were so calm and centered. If I had asked you that a year ago you would have gone into a rage about how I didn't trust you or didn't think you were good enough. Or you would have broken down and been overly emotional."
"Sara, I've been waiting ten years for you to catch up. And it occurred to me this morning you've probably passed me." His voice was tender, pleading. "I came here this morning to ask you to give me a chance to catch up to you."
He had answered all of her unspoken questions, the why nots? and the why nows? It felt like every dream she'd had for the last ten years was about to come true.
It also felt, strangely enough, like a giant step backwards.
"Gris," her voice was tentative, "I do want you, I want this, I want us, but I can't do the emotional rollercoaster again…" he started to speak, but she held up a staying hand. "I don't want to guess. I don't want to go around all the time agonizing over every word and silence wondering if I'm reading too much into a look or if it means something." She knew what she was about to ask was going to be a lot from him. "I need to know exactly what you want, I need to know what 'this' is to you."
He took a breath. "Everything. I want everything. This is everything to me." She looked as if she was having one of those analyzing moments she seemed to want to avoid, so he continued quickly. "I want to date you. I want to make love to you. I want to live with you, marry you and have a family with you. I want to grow old with you and I want to die in your arms."
He watched as her head lowered, as if she couldn't meet disappointment head on if the answer to her question wasn't what she wanted, yet her voice was full of quiet hope, "Do you love me?"
"My God Sara, I was born in love with you," he nearly laughed. "I remember the first time I saw you. I remember the first time I thought about what it would be like to kiss you. I remember the first time you smiled at me. I remember all the reasons I want you and all the reasons I shouldn't but, dear God in Heaven, Sara," his voice dropped and he reached out with his free hand and softly stroked her cheek, "Sweet Sara," his thumb stroked over her lip, "My Sara," he exerted the slightest pressure under her chin and she raised her eyes to meet his, "I don't remember what it's like not to love you. I feel like I've always loved you and I know that I always will."
Mental health be damned. How was she supposed to say no to that?
She blinked at him and nodded. "OK."
"OK?" he responded with a lopsided smile.
"OK. Yeah. That's good." She couldn't help but smile at him.
He laughed as he drew her into his arms.
"So, other than the shopping trip from Hell, everything is good?" Brass's voice brought her back to the present.
She gave him the sweetest smile he had ever seen; "Yeah, things are good."
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There were no fibers to collect, no fingerprints to lift, no trace to analyze. There was no mystery to solve by investigation or science.
They all felt completely helpless.
Vartan was lead for the police and even though there was no evidence collecting to be done he gave the graveyard CSIs carte blanche to be privy to all of the meetings and information that was available to them, but none of it mattered.
None of it was going to change what was going on inside the damned store.
Catherine wandered from group to huddled group, picking up what information she could. She listened in on the tail end of the interviews with the released hostages.
"He was really polite," one of the blonde, red-eyed cashiers said in a wobbly voice. "He kept saying he didn't want to hurt anybody but he killed Mr. Kendrick," she sucked in her bottom lip on a wet, sobbing hiccup. "He has a little boy, ya know? Justin, he's three." She shook her head as fresh tears filled her eyes. "Is my mom here yet? I want my Mom." The tears spilled over and more sobs broke out as she whispered, "His brains were all over the place," shoulders shaking, she folded in on herself and she couldn't say anymore.
This kid was just a couple of years older than Lindsey.
Lindsey. Hard as nails and not even fifteen; if she were in the same situation, she'd take a bullet herself before she'd ask for her mom.
Catherine sighed. How much of that could she honestly blame on Eddie's death? Not as much as she'd like. Lindsay's behavior was a direct result of the old premise – lead by example. Her daughter was more like her than she cared to admit.
Sara had been right when she had told Catherine that she allowed her sexuality to cloud her judgment. They had never talked about it after Sara's suspension, but after some time and distance Catherine thought one of the reasons what Sara said had made her so angry was the truth of it.
She thought of a bumper sticker she had seen once: The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.
Worse, she knew she wasn't just guilty of it professionally, it was personal too. A perfect example of it could be found in the eyes her fourteen year old daughter.
She was such a flaming hypocrite. She could belittle her mother for being used by a womanizing, lying cheat for forty-odd years and still let her daughter see the same behavior from her. The only difference between Catherine and her own mother? One man versus many.
She wanted to go home and wrap Lindsey up in a tight hug. She wanted to stop the parade of men and too many hours on the job. She wanted one more chance to be a good mother. She wanted one more chance to be the kind of mother her daughter would ask for in a crisis.
She made up her mind. She would do it, just as soon as Brass and Sara walked out of that store in one piece.
This was one of those times Catherine doubted her leadership ability. She ought to send one of the guys to the hospital to sit in on the interview with the injured woman. But she couldn't; not when she saw how tense they all were, knowing how much they all cared about Sara and Brass, and how they all needed to be here.
Grissom would be able to do it, but she couldn't.
She knew a lot of people thought he was cold, that he didn't care. But she also knew that that wasn't true, even though she had more than once accused him of being unfeeling. Work was the way he cared; doing everything he could to solve the puzzle, to save the day, to find justice.
How far out in the desert was that damned scene, anyway? She turned to look off into the bright lights of the quiet Vegas side street, and hugged herself.
She had been surprised when Ecklie had gone to get him; but Ecklie had been surprising her for the past few months. He had been much easier to work with and seemed to be getting along better with Grissom. She had even seen him exchange pleasantries with Sara. And that had been just plain…weird.
Whatever.
Catherine supposed even Ecklie couldn't miss that Grissom had deep feelings for the younger woman. She knew the two CSIs shared a history and while the interactions between the young woman and her supervisor appeared to have taken a beating, Catherine was fairly sure Grissom's real feelings for Sara had never wavered.
Again, whatever. None of this was helping the situation at hand.
Grissom needed to be here. He needed to use that big brain of his and tell them where to look, what to do, how they could help end this mess and get Brass and Sara out of there alive.
They needed him.
She wished he would just hurry the fuck up, before the psycho doc went ballistic and mowed down everyone in his path.
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Lurie was off the phone and hovering over her again.
She wished the negotiators would just keep him talking and far away from her.
Their time inside the store was divided into two categories. The tense time of Lurie's presence circling around her in some demented trajectory and the time when he left them alone to speak with the negotiators. This was a time that was marked by the release of tension through quiet conversation and black humor with Brass.
Whatever Lurie was negotiating for, Sara knew one thing; he was most likely to get was a sharp shooter's bullet to the brain. She and Brass simply had to be ready not to get caught in the crossfire.
She had felt better prepared to remain clear headed before he had threatened the baby. She was fairly certain he wouldn't do anything to harm her while they were in here and the chances of him making it more than ten feet outside the door with a pulse were infinitesimal, but she was frightened nonetheless. For herself, for Brass, and for her baby.
So much could go wrong and for the first time in her life, Sara Sidle had so much to lose.