Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I have some of the DVDs.
A/N: Thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me. She continues to enrich my writing with every chapter. She is the best!
Dark crimson smears stained the tile floor in thick swaths where Sara had been sitting just minutes before.
Brass's heart was thudding in his ears; his first instinct was to wake her, but he stopped himself. If he woke her what would she do? What could he do? What good would it do her to know…He was torn between calling her back to consciousness and letting her rest in peaceful oblivion.
An overwhelming wave of guilt washed over Brass with an accompanying feeling of nausea. What if he had done this, what if it was his fault? Maybe if he hadn't tackled her when Lurie and the store manager had begun shooting at each other, this wouldn't be happening.
If she was bleeding, did it automatically mean she was losing the baby? He searched his memory for everything he could remember from when his ex had been pregnant with Ellie…not that he had been the most attentive father-to-be but it was the only time he had been close to a pregnant woman. He had a memory of her calling him, frantic, on her way to her doctor's office because she was spotting, but it had turned out to be nothing; she was fine, Ellie was fine. He couldn't help the brief press of guilt within his chest; he never paid all that much attention to something he now realized was so very important.
But the blood on the floor looked like a lot more than just spotting to him.
He had to get her help. He had to get her out of here.
"Lurie," he called out. Aiming his voice over his shoulder towards where the doctor was standing, he was careful not to jostle Sara's head where it rested on his thigh. He tried to keep his panicked voice loud enough to be heard, but low enough not to startle Sara awake.
He and the doctor had had very little conversation over the preceding hours. Lurie only wanted to speak to Sara and any discussion with Brass seemed to agitate him. Years of being in volatile situations during his career had taught the seasoned detective to do as little as possible to aggravate any unstable element, so he had not tried to engage the man after the first few abortive attempts. Now, though he had no choice; no matter how unpredictable Lurie was Brass was determined to get Sara the help she needed.
As the doctor approached and caught sight of Sara's head in the older man's lap, his expression darkened ominously. Brass quickly tried to alleviate his obvious jealousy by beginning his plea. "She's bleeding; she said a couple of times over the last hour or so she didn't feel right." He was surprised at how emotional he sounded…his voice was trembling and full of supplication. "Please, let her go. You said you love her, here's your chance to prove it. I'll stay, but she needs to get to the hospital." He could feel his heart thrumming in his head, pounding in desperation to get this man, this highly dangerous and delusional man, to agree to the one thing he most definitely did not want to do.
The surgeon dropped down onto his haunches beside his captives. First he studied the blood on the floor, then Sara's face. When he reached out and stroked a loose tendril off of one pale cheek, Brass found himself grinding his teeth in an effort not to yell at the doctor. He didn't want the maniac near her.
Lurie's face had a look of absolute reverence on it as he stroked his fingers along her jawbone, first palm side down, then with the back of his hand. He pushed some wisps of hair back from over her eyes and lightly touched her forehead. Finally, he spoke, his voice slow and slightly pensive, "Don't worry about it, Captain Brass. It's just the medicine I gave her. It's taking effect."
Brass fought the anger and revulsion that rose in him as he watched the doctor touching Sara's face. "Medicine?" He felt a sudden cold clarity. He cursed himself for being such a fool.
The tea, the damned tea. The crazy bastard had done something to the tea.
He felt as if his insides had turned to ice and he was radiating cold from his center outward. Before, whenever Brass had experienced rage it had come as a white hot wave…but this, this was colder than anything he had ever experienced. He felt as if he was breathing out frigid air and his breath should be blue.
"You poisoned her," Brass stated flatly. "You sick son of a bitch; you poisoned her." Jim Brass was not a violent man by nature; he had been responsible for the deaths of two people in his years on the force and he carried those deaths with him as daily sorrows. He never wanted to be responsible for taking a life, but right now, in this moment, if he could, he would murder Vincent Lurie with his bare hands and happily bathe in his blood.
Lurie laughed lightly. "Poisoned? No, I would not poison my love, my Sara." He nearly crooned the endearments. "I just gave her some medicine to help solve our problem. She'll be fine in a few days."
"You're trying to kill her baby." Brass swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat as his mind was moving at a frenetic pace. Was it too late? Was there an antidote? Was Sara in danger from what the doctor had given her? What could he say to the twisted physician to get him to let her go? "She wants this baby…she's going to hate you for this."
The doctor shook his head. "She can still have a baby; just not his baby. As soon as she recovers we'll begin anew and start our own family." He never removed his eyes from Sara's face, watching his fingers as they stroked back and forth over her cheek.
Brass swallowed the words of fury that were fighting to get out. The idea of Sara being forced to endure whatever this psycho had in mind left him barely able to think. He breathed in, "Untie me so I can take care of her."
The doctor shook his head. "She's fine…she'll be fine," he amended.
The detective snorted. "You don't know Sara. If she wakes up and sees this blood, she's not going to be fine and neither are you. She will fight you every step of the way for every minute of the rest of your miserable life if she finds out you knew she was bleeding and didn't do something to help." He looked at Sara again. "How do you know she's going to be OK? That looks like a lot of blood to me. How can you be sure she'll be fine?"
Lurie's gaze flickered briefly from the woman's face over to Brass, then back. "There's nothing that can be done, even if I wanted to."
"Yeah, buddy, I get what you want and don't want," even though he was trying to be conciliatory, he couldn't seem to help the sarcasm. He shook himself, "Look, she doesn't ever have to know you were responsible…she can think it was the stress or me throwing her down, whatever. But she doesn't need to see all of this blood," he looked over at the scarlet smears on the floor; even now he could see more blood beginning to accumulate where Sara was resting. He could see the stains soaking through her jeans in dark and wet splotches.
Jesus, it looked like a lot of blood; he fought his fear and the churning feeling in his stomach. "Untie me so I can clean this up and make her more comfortable…I swear I won't try anything." The doctor was staring at him intently now, so Brass pulled out all the stops; his face became solemn and he allowed the tears that had been threatening to accumulate in his eyes and despite his instinct to do the opposite he didn't try to hide the tremble in his voice. "I swear, man, I won't do anything but help her…she's like a daughter to me; you gotta let me help her."
Lurie chewed on his lip as he studied the police captain; after a few minutes he nodded. "There are some hand towels in the deli area and a blanket in the manager's office. I'll go get them." He stood. "When I come back, I'll let you tend to her. Then Captain Brass, you're going to make a phone call for me."
With a slow, measured pace he walked away and Brass blew out a deep breath. First problem solved, Lurie would untie him. Now he just had to figure out how to get the gun away from him and get Sara out of harm's way.
"What is it?" Catherine was only one notch down from screaming. "What did he find?"
"Mifepristone," Grissom said in a monotone. He allowed numbness to wash over him; better that than the crippling terror that threatened.
"RU-486? What about it?" the blonde addressed Grissom but she had reached out to clutch Greg's upper arm, confusion written on her face.
The young CSI looked at Catherine. "Lurie removed 4 doses of Mifepristone from the hospital's supply earlier today, uh, yesterday. He also signed out one dose of Misoprostol and filled three prescriptions in Sara's name; one for a generic sedative, one for Vicodin and another for Coumadin."
"What?" Warrick looked from Greg to Grissom "I get the sedative and the Vicodin but why the other stuff?" He thought he knew what the drugs were, but that didn't make any sense.
"He's planning on performing a medication abortion on her," Grissom rubbed a hand over his face and tried to slow his heart rate; the fright clinging coldly to his insides him made that nearly impossible.
"What!" Catherine's hand gripped Greg's arm so tightly he winced. "But Sara's not…" she looked at Grissom's expression and brought her other hand to cover her mouth, gasping through the splayed fingers, "Oh, my God…Gil…did you know?"
"Dr. Grissom?" Ben Nichols was approaching the group quickly, accompanied by Nick and Vartan. "Stokes says you have some new information."
"Gardner's computer guy managed to get into the hospital system. Lurie signed out several doses of the primary drug used in medication abortion and one dose of the secondary. He also filled prescriptions in Sara's name for a sedative, a painkiller and a blood thinner." The senior CSI took a shaky breath and looked down at the pharmacy reports still clutched in his slightly trembling hand. "I think we need to take whatever steps necessary to..."
Nichols waved a hand in Grissom's direction, "I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom. I'm not a medic or a scientist. I'm just a cop with a couple of fancy titles. I need you to spell the whole thing out for me, so I see the complete picture." Grissom started to object, but Nichols shook his head. "I know it's urgent, believe me; but I have to know everything you know, so I can see all of the angles and possible ramifications." The negotiator was an expert at reading people and he knew the CSI was fighting an emotional battle to maintain control but he could barely detect any outward sign. He looked at the group surrounding the scientist and wondered if any of them understood what the man was grappling with.
Grissom took a deep breath and then released it. When he spoke again it was in his teacher's voice. "Mifepristone, also known as RU-486, is used in conjunction with Misoprostol. Mifepristone is generally administered in a clinic or hospital under a doctor's supervision. It blocks progesterone causing the fetus to detach from the uterus, softens the cervix, thins the uterine lining and often causes uterine contractions. When the patient leaves the doctor's office they are given a dose of Misoprostol to self administer between 24-72 hours after ingesting the Misoprostol. This second drug causes severe uterine contractions, expelling the fetus approximately 95 percent of the time." Grissom nearly choked on the clinical words coming out of his mouth. Fetus? He wasn't talking about a fetus, he was talking about his and Sara's baby.
He drew another breath and looked at the negotiator to make sure he was following, at Nichols' nod, he continued, "This same regimen had been used in France for quite a few years before being approved for use in the United States. When the FDA was testing the drug for approval in the US the studies showed that roughly 60 percent of the time administration of Mifepristone alone would cause spontaneous abortion. That percentage was not considered acceptable, of course and the traditional regimen of the two drugs together was approved."
Nichols nodded. "So, you were right earlier. He must have followed her to the doctor and discovered the pregnancy. That was what set him off. But why get multiple doses of the first drug, but only one of the second?"
The others watched the exchange with an air of apprehension and tension.
Grissom frowned. "The contractions caused by the Misoprostol can be extremely violent. She wouldn't be able to travel after taking it, so that would hinder his plans to take her out of the country. Maybe he thought multiple doses of the Mifepristone would increase the chances of…" it suddenly occurred to him this was Sara and their baby he was talking about. His family. What if it was already too late? What if Lurie overdosed Sara? He suddenly felt as if his legs were going to give out. From the moment Ecklie had told him what was going on he had been terrified for Sara and the baby. Any number of things could happen to them, there were all sorts of undefined dangers that they could be exposed to, but now he had an idea of what Lurie planned to do and his fear blossomed from a nebulous feeling to a certain cold aching dread. There just didn't appear to be an end to this nightmare. He shook his head, unable to continue.
Nichols face softened as he saw the man sway minutely; he was so controlled for the most part he rarely betrayed he was personally involved. "Dr. Grissom, I know this is difficult for you. I do appreciate the information." He thought for a moment, strumming his fingers against his thigh. "OK, the sedative would be to keep her calm and the painkiller is obvious, especially if he planned to use the secondary medication. Why the blood thinner?"
Greg spoke up hesitantly, at first, "Uh, Chad included some of the information about the drugs. Blood thinners are contraindicated with Mifepristone." He was gaining confidence as he spoke. "If his goal is to initiate a spontaneous abortion without using the Misoprostol, the use of blood thinner would increase the bleeding which would increase the chance of..." He stumbled to a halt, unable to complete the sentence.
Jesus. Sara was pregnant. He didn't even know she was seeing anybody; she could be intensely private but if it was serious enough they were having a baby, surely she would have introduced the guy to her friends? Sara wasn't the type to just hook up with some random guy and never see him again. What if the guy had dumped her because she was pregnant? If he found out who the guy was, he would personally pound him. He wondered if Grissom knew who it was; Grissom had known she was pregnant.
Greg shook himself out of his thoughts and continued, "But the two should never be taken together. If he gives her both, he's not only endangering the pregnancy, he's endangering Sara."
The looks on both Grissom and Nick's faces could only be described as a combination of nauseated and horrified while Catherine and Warrick both looked as if they were trying to shake off their shock and catch up.
Greg took a breath and looked at Nichols, "Grissom is right; you've got to get them out of there."
Nichols digested the latest information and looked at Grissom. "Why now? Why would he give her the pills in there? Wouldn't he wait until he got her away from here? I just don't want to move too fast or do the wrong thing if we're not relatively certain they're in danger right now."
Grissom had lost all of his color as the answer suddenly came to him. "The efficacy of the regimen decreases after seven weeks of pregnancy. If he accessed her medical records as I suspect, he would know she's seven weeks today. That's what caused the panic and the rash behavior," he swallowed and continued hoarsely, "He was out of time."
Nichols looked steadily at Grissom; "You understand the risk of using tear gas?"
Grissom nodded. "Considering the possible alternatives tear gas is the better risk."
Nichols pressed his closed fist to his mouth and tapped it against his lips as he thought. "It's still not my favorite option. If the assailant isn't at the front of the store when the tear gas comes through the windows it could give him enough time to harm the hostages before we can get to him." He shrugged, "I guess we don't really have a choice…it'll take about…" the beeping of the negotiator's phone caused him to pause; he read off the text message. "He's on the phone. Let me see if I can improve our odds." He jerked his head towards the command vehicle as he began striding away. "You're welcome to come along Dr. Grissom."
Not looking back, Grissom and Vartan both hurried after him.
Catherine stared at Nick and Greg with wide eyes. "Did you two know? That she was pregnant?" Her voice was full of accusation.
Greg was shaking his head, "Not until a little while ago…Grissom told us that's why they didn't want to use tear gas."
"Man, this is messed up," Warrick nearly moaned in his frustration. "I didn't even know she was seeing anybody." His eyes fell on Nick.
Misinterpreting Warrick's look, Catherine instinctively honed in on Nick, "Do you know anything you're not telling?"
Nick shook his head at her, "Leave it, Cath."
She pounced. "You do know! Who is she seeing? Have they been called?" Catherine grabbed his arm demandingly.
Nick sighed. "Really, Cath, none of that is important right now. Just leave it." He caught Warrick eyeing him speculatively, asking a silent question and Nick shook his head slowly, sadly in answer. No, the baby wasn't his. Sara wasn't his.
Sara was not quite asleep, not quite dreaming. But things were fuzzy.
She heard snippets of conversations in broken snatches, like a radio conversation with bad reception.
"…shoot you without…"
"…so much blood? Are you…"
"…any pain…as bad as…"
"…her go…promise...any trouble…"
"…worse than…fine"
"…not good…needs help…"
She heard the words, but she was having trouble making processing them. She decided not to try to make sense of them. Instead, she decided she lose herself in thoughts of Grissom.
When she was nine, her brother had told her that human beings only used ten percent of their brains. Even then, as young as she was, that made no sense to her. Why would we have something that big and important and not use all of it?
They had just studied a little bit about evolution in her science class and she had, as usual, gone to the local library and checked out some books on evolution. So, the whole only using 10 percent of our brains? Nope, didn't fit in with evolution. If we had something we didn't need, she reasoned, it would have evolved out of us. She was certain of this with all the intellect and reasoning of an adult and the complete assurance of a precocious little girl.
Besides, her brain was always humming, connecting dots, proposing theories, always thinking, never quiet; there was no way all of that noise and movement came from only 10 percent of what was in her head.
Of course, later she learned it was a fallacy. Human beings use 100 percent of their brains; the 10 percent myth was born of a misunderstanding and perpetuated to suit the agenda of psychics and those who needed an explanation for the unexplainable. Though science doesn't lie, scientists sometimes do.
She felt vindicated; she knew she used all of her brain, she knew there was no unexplored region inside her head.
She was certain of that up until Gil Grissom kissed her.
That first day on her sofa, his first few kisses had been tentative, chaste presses of mouths. The press and slide of his lips against hers, slightly wet, very soft with the slight whisper of his beard occasionally against the edge of her mouth were gentle beginnings. Each subsequent kiss deepened, became an ever more thorough exploration of her lips, tongue and mouth.
After sometime she became aware that her body was prone on her couch with Grissom's body pressing her into the cushions, both of their hands were exploring as much as they could reach through and under clothes with gentle curiosity and shy tenderness.
That was what her body was doing…what her mind was doing was something different. Every time he deepened a kiss, she felt her body respond but her mind went completely black, consumed by the pleasure of his lips molding themselves to hers, his tongue exploring and tasting her, and his hands on her flushed skin. After a while she was aware of a depth to the blackness, and it deepened with each kiss. She felt like she was hurtling through space surrounded by warmth, her mind accelerating past stars that had never been charted, careening towards the intersection of infinity and eternity and it was all there in her brain released into her consciousness by Grissom's kisses.
It was always like that when he kissed her passionately. He could caress her and quote Shakespeare and other poets, but the only poetry she ever offered him was that first day, after experiencing the heady sensation, eyes half closed, lips swollen from his kisses, spoken in a husky whisper against his skin, "Gris…kiss…bliss." He had answered her with a gentle smile and another passionate kiss.
She felt the blackness in her brain now. But it wasn't the ecstatic blackness of Grissom kisses. There were no stars, there was no warmth.
She knew she wasn't doing well. She could feel her baby's life slipping away from her and a part of her brain was crying out in emotional agony at the loss…but that was distant…so distant. She shivered.
She was cold. She felt as if there were frigid fingers of icy cold clawing their way through her belly.
Shock, her objective mind supplied for her somewhere beyond the blackness. Yes, she was probably going into shock.
Was she dying? She wasn't sure. It would probably be easy to do right now…just stop trying and float away. The question flitted through her mind unbidden, if she floated away would it be warmer there?
Yes, yes, she was sure of it…always before the blackness was warm, if she floated away could she find the warmth? The warmth was good. Warmth meant…
Grissom! Her mind forced the reality on her through the blackness. She couldn't leave Grissom. No, no, no.
It would hurt him too much. No, she had to stay, she couldn't go. He loved her, she couldn't leave him. She loved him, too. She didn't want to leave him. She had to stay; she had to fight the blackness, fight for Grissom and the life they had found together.
She couldn't float into the blackness. It was not bliss, not this time.
She needed help - somebody to help her fight the blackness.
There was someone else…she had heard voices. She knew one of the voices, it was a good voice, good friend. Who was it? Why couldn't she think right? Everything was just so damned hazy, nothing was clear.
A good friend. Good as gold, her disoriented mind provided. Gold was metal, metal was good…
Brass. Yes, it was Brass; he was there with her. Brass. Good, she assured herself through the fog in her head.
She had to ask Brass to help her. He would help her if she asked, she just had to ask.
She sucked at asking for help. She always had.
"Too damned independent," her father had always said. She had often wondered if she had asked for help from somebody…a teacher, a neighbor, the ER nurse, anybody, would it have helped? Would the escalation of violence have stopped? Would her father be alive? Would her mother and brother still be a part of her life?
If she had asked for help would she have started drinking so much? If she had asked for help would her anger have escalated to the point of hurting her relationship with Catherine and her career?
She knew not asking for help when she needed it had hurt her. She was smart. She could learn the lesson. She had learned the lesson. She was trying to change.
She just needed one more chance now; one more chance to show she had learned her lesson.
The blackness was pulling her in, consuming her. She had to fight, but she needed help.
Struggling, she opened her eyes and saw Brass' craggy, worried face in front of her. She made a huge effort and tried to breathe deeply so she could speak.
So cold. Another shiver shook her frame.
"Sara?" Brass' voice was full of anxiety, but it grounded her and chased back the blackness.
She was finally able to move her stiff and pale lips, "Help me."
She watched with distant fascination as tears began streaming down Brass' cheeks, his voice an odd mixture of reassurance and pain. "You bet, Doll. I'm all over it."
Sara sighed. She had asked for help. It wasn't too late; she had gotten one more chance.
As soon as they entered the command vehicle, Nichols snapped on a headset and nodded to another of his team members who then flipped a switch starting the recording equipment and broadcasting the call throughout the vehicle. He was in his element here; 100 percent competent and steady.
"Dr. Lurie? You ready to talk to me some more? Maybe we can work something out this time." As he was speaking he was directing the attention of the other men to a video monitor of the front windows of the store where a tall, faint shadow showed through on one of the advertising posters.
The doctor's smooth, cultured voice filled the space. "That would be a pleasant development. My request is the same; a car with a full tank of gas and no tracking devices, unhindered passage to the Mexican border. I'll release Captain Brass as soon as we cross the border."
"Now, doctor, you know, I can't…"
Lurie ruthlessly interrupted Nichols. "I know you can." There was a slight pause and they watched the shadow on the monitor move away. "I thought perhaps you might like the good detective's opinion of the matter."
There was another pause and the sound of the cell phone changing hands. "This is Jim Brass. Who am I speaking with?" Grissom and Vartan had both straightened at the sound of Brass's voice; despite the evenness of his tone there was an undercurrent of urgency to his voice.
"Captain Brass, Ben Nichols here. How are we doing in there?"
"I'm fine, but Sara's not doing so good." As Brass' voice floated through the room Grissom moved beside Nichols. The negotiator could almost feel the tension vibrating off of him. "You need to give the doctor whatever the hell he wants; this situation can't continue the way it is." He obviously couldn't speak freely with Lurie listening, but he was letting them know the time for caution had passed. They had to do something now damnit!
Nichols drew in a deep breath. "Tell the doctor his car will be out front in ten minutes." His tone was a warning to Brass to be alert and ready to move out of the line of fire.
He heard the call disconnect from the other end, then began barking orders as his team jumped into action. "Robertson, get the vehicle in place and alert the ambulances; we have a 35 year old pregnant female in some sort of distress; have them alert the hospital. Smith, roll out a police line 100 feet from the front of the store and get everybody back behind it. Everybody else get your gear and move to positions. Sharp shooters on the roof get first crack, if you don't have a kill shot, use the radio and give one of the ground guys a chance at it. Let's move!"
Grissom stood back and watched the exploding activity around him with a sense of dread. Everything he had been afraid of from the beginning was happening. Sara was losing the baby, Sara was in trouble. God, what if it was too late?
He had confidence in Ben Nichols and his men, but they didn't know what all Lurie had given her, what he had done to her. What if she was dying?
What if the sniper's bullet went wrong and hit her instead? What if despite their best efforts the mad doctor actually got her into the car…how would they free her then?
His thoughts were a maelstrom of fear and wretchedness. There was nothing he could do this time to influence the outcome.
"Grissom?" Vartan's voice brought him back from the furor of his thoughts. "We need to get into position if you want to observe."
Grissom looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"
Vartan's looked at him with sympathy. "It's time."
Sara knew she needed to stay awake but it was very hard. She was so cold; if she went to sleep she might not feel so cold.
Something was different. She opened her eyes and saw her own hands. Wait…hadn't her hands been tied behind her before? Yes, she was sure they had. She was untied. That was good.
"Sara?" Brass's low, gravelly voice pierced her brain fog.
She looked up at him and blinked several times. "Yeah?"
"How are you doing, kiddo?" His dark eyes were anxiously searching her face.
"Cold," was all she could manage to mumble.
She heard him sigh and felt him shift her so she was cradled against his side with his arm around her. It did not warm her but it did keep the cold from penetrating more.
Her eyes fell back to her hands where they rested in her lap. There was blood on her hands, blood on her jeans. She nodded to herself; even through the murkiness in her brain she had understood she was bleeding. The distant part of her that was not muddled and hazy was dreadfully alarmed and horribly grieved, but that part of her was too far away and Sara was too tired and cold to think about it much.
Her head felt so heavy as she raised it to look at Brass again. One word was all she could muster, but he understood it was a question. "Help?"
"It's on the way. We're gonna get you out of here in just a few minutes, OK?"
Numbly, she nodded. Her earlier thoughts circled back around in her cloudy mind. She sighed. "Brass good."