Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I do dream about William Petersen on a regular basis.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I am now a Review Ho'...thanks for feeding my addiction.
Thanks to Nightblight for being such a marvelous Beta and becoming a friend. She has enriched my writing with every chapter and pulled things out of this story I didn't even know were there.
And thanks to my "real life" friend Kim, who is not a member of the fandom, yet without her encouragement and support this experience would not have been nearly as fun or rewarding.
Brass kept his arm around Sara and his eyes on Lurie.
He kept hoping Lurie would accidentally shoot himself in a major artery and prove to Brass once and for all there was a God.
Sara had sunk back into unconsciousness. He tucked the blanket Lurie had gotten from the manager's office more securely around her and tried not to dwell on the amount of blood on the floor. He wanted her to rest; things were about to get tense. She needed whatever breather the respite from awareness would give her.
The doctor had spent the last few minutes pacing in front of his hostages, pausing occasionally to surreptitiously glance outside at the activity in the parking lot. Finally, he came to stand in front of Brass. "As far as I can tell there are no other buildings in close enough proximity to put a sniper on. They will be on the roof of this building. I anticipate they will park the vehicle far enough away from the door to draw me out into range. Are my assumptions correct?" His tone was formal and polite, as if he were confirming directions to the interstate from a stranger.
Brass shrugged, "Probably." He was surprised the doctor had put that much thought into the possible scenarios. When he had been on the phone with the negotiators, Lurie had seemed so sure that the only thing standing between him and getting away was the availability of a vehicle. So, the doctor was not so deluded that he had lost all grip on reality. Brass was not sure if he should be comforted or chagrined. But the man was smart, delusional or not.
Lurie's mouth twisted as he contemplated both the detective and his predicament.
The ringing of his phone in the quiet store seemed extraordinarily loud to both the doctor and the detective. For a moment their eyes met in a shared tension. Brass's eyebrows rose. "I'm pretty sure that's for you," he said dryly.
The physician opened the phone and resumed his restless pacing. "Yes?"
Brass watched Lurie's face as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. The doctor snapped the phone shut without further response and stalked over to the window, carefully keeping most of his body behind the large advertising poster hailing the sale price of Wild Alaskan Coho Salmon. The look on the physicians face could only be categorized as calculating.
When he spoke, his voice was flat. "The car is out there and parked far enough from the door to give a marksman on the rooftop a good shot at blowing my brains out." He turned back to where Brass and Sara were still seated on the floor; his expression briefly morphed into one of tenderness as his eyes fell on Sara but hardened again when his gaze swung to Brass. He crouched down to look the older man in the eye. "How much do you value Sara's life, Detective?"
Brass felt as if his heart was in his throat. How could he explain to this madman that Sara meant as much to him as his own daughter and like any parent he felt the value of his child's life keenly? He met Lurie's gaze with unfriendly sincerity, "More than my own."
The doctor nodded. "Good." His gaze flicked to Sara and back to the detective. "Good," he repeated. "Then, I'm going to trust you to do something for her. Trust me, if you don't do exactly as I say, if you betray me, you have betrayed her. I will kill her." He tilted his head. "I hope you know I am capable of that."
Brass remembered the body of Debbie Marlin curled over the drain of her shower, eyes open wide, with a gaping gash across her white throat. He cleared his own throat, "Yes, I know what you're capable of."
Lurie half smiled and nodded. "Good. This is what you're going to do…"
The previous ten minutes had been a maelstrom of activity that had suddenly ceased once the dark sedan had been pulled into the space between the police barricade and the front of the store and Ben Nichols had called Lurie's cell phone to let him know the vehicle was in place.
There was hardly any movement from any of the County employees behind the barricades and the only noise was the distant radio traffic from the vehicles ringing the edges of the parking lot. Even the civilians and media gathered on the farthest edge of the lot behind the county vehicles seemed to have quieted in anticipation. Every eye was trained on the front of the store and a collective tension thrummed through the air as minute after agonizing minute passed. The bright lights of the parking lot that had illuminated the activities of the night were still beating back the darkness even as the first tinges of light began showing on the eastern horizon.
Ben Nichols and his team were the only ones within the barricade, some visible, some not. Nichols himself was standing about twenty feet from the barricade in full view of the front door, clearly unarmed, hands on hips in preparation for Lurie and the hostages' exit from the store. Grissom and the other night shift CSIs stood with Vartan, Ecklie and McKeen behind the barricade, directly in front of the store
Grissom had never felt such an intense anxiety and disquiet. He knew the plan; as Lurie exited the building either the sharpshooter on the building or one of the other members of Nichols' team would shoot him. Nichols would either confirm the kill or if Lurie was still alive, make sure he was under guard. The paramedics would then move in and take care of Sara and Brass, if necessary.
But a plan could go wrong and despite his erratic behavior, the surgeon was a brilliant man. Grissom found it hard to believe Lurie would not have anticipated an ambush. There were back-up plans in place, but they were all so much more dangerous for Sara and Brass. He made a conscious effort to breath past the tension mounting in his chest; the plan had to work. It had to.
Grissom's ruminations were interrupted by movement from the store. The automatic door opened and Brass stepped out with his arms raised. He was obviously alone; fear pulsed in Grissom's throat. Where was Sara? Why was Brass out here alone? What was happening?
The detective stepped forward onto the pavement and the door closed behind him. He remained still, his arms raised and spoke across the lot. "Nichols?" Grissom felt his heart pounding rapidly; he didn't know it could beat this fast, this hard.
"Captain Brass," the SWAT leader acknowledged, "what's going on?"
"Lurie wants me to move the vehicle closer to the door. He's afraid of who might be on the roof." Brass remained in front of the store, hands in the air.
Nichols inclined his head in acknowledgement as his eyes swept over the detective. "You have blood on your pants. Are you injured?"
Grissom had been studying Brass's face so intently that he'd not noticed the streaks of dark maroon on the older man's khakis. His stomach twisted in agony; he felt his anxiety level peaking.
"Not my blood. It's Sara's," Brass's voice was rough with worry.
His eyes flicked to the barricade where Vartan and Ecklie were attempting to restrain Grissom who had made a sudden attempt to breach the barrier at Brass's words. He could hear Ecklie and Vartan, speaking to the older man; the words 'Grissom!' and 'Stop!' coming through loudly and repeatedly. But Grissom was not saying anything, he was simply trying to break their hold and cross the barricade.
For a moment, it looked like the younger detective and the lab's Assistant Director might lose the fight until Nick added his strength to the struggle.
Bracing himself against Grissom's chest, he threw his full weight at him. "Grissom, man, he'll kill her if he thinks he's being rushed. Stop." Nick's voice was thick with his own emotions.
Nick's words penetrated and Grissom stopped struggling and met the younger man's eyes for a moment.
"OK?" Vartan asked and Grissom nodded, looking at Brass again. The men surrounding him dropped their restraining arms but kept close in case he lost control again.
Nichols had never taken his eyes off Brass, but he had an idea of what was happening behind him. He waited until he heard the struggle stop, then addressed Brass, again. "What happens after you move the car?"
Brass shrugged. "I go back in and all three of us come back out, get in the car and we're gone. I believe the plan is for me to be the wheelman." His upraised right hand briefly touched his right ear in a movement small enough not to be detected behind the store's advertising posters.
"Is there anything we can do?" Nichols projected his voice easily across the quiet parking lot, but he merely he inclined his head to silently acknowledge Brass's signal. Everyone present observed the interaction with ferocious intensity as though they were watching some macabre performance.
The older man cut his eyes to the left side of the building and ever so slightly inclined his head in the same direction but his words negated the movements. "No, I don't think so. I think you just need to let us go."
Nichols nodded and spoke into his radio. "Rooftop, stand down. I repeat stand down. One of the hostages will be moving the vehicle closer to the building." He then motioned to one of his team members and whispered urgently in his ear. The other man nodded and trotted back towards the command center. Nichols was fairly certain Lurie's sight line was limited but he was unsure of how much he could hear from the store; the negotiator decided to play it safe and not verbally acknowledge the police captain's signals.
Nichols looked back at Brass, "All clear, Captain. You can move the vehicle; keys are in it."
Brass's face remained neutral but he let out a small sigh as he lowered his arms. Trudging to the sedan, he moved it against the curb directly in front of the store and with one last look around walked back into the store.
Grissom watched him return to the store with an overwhelming ache in his chest. He was terrified of what Lurie had already done to Sara, and very much afraid that the baby was already lost.
He needed this ordeal to over and to have Sara back safe. He would give every thing he had, everything he was, just to know that she would be all right and in his arms again.
Sara wanted to stay asleep but they wouldn't her. Someone was insistently shaking her shoulder calling her name over and over. She didn't want to, but she felt herself swimming toward awareness.
"Sara, wake up"
She felt as though she were listening to the voice through water.
"Come on, Doll, I need to see those beautiful brown eyes"
She was so tired; why wouldn't they just leave her alone?
"Sara…Wake up…"
She broke the surface of consciousness and her eyes finally opened as the voice had insisted.
A concerned, rugged face was right in front of her.
"Brass," she breathed through dry lips, her voice was sluggish and she sounded slightly confused.
"Hiya, Hon. You ready to get out of here?" His voice was gentle as he rubbed her cold hands; her body temperature seemed to have dropped. He wondered if it was from the blood loss or the drugs the twisted physician had given her.
Dumbly, she nodded.
"OK, then…" he glanced over his shoulder at the doctor and his ever present gun. He looked back at Sara "I probably could have carried you a month ago, but I don't think I can do it now." He eyed her length appraisingly, "I might be able to manage a fireman's carry…" His voice was uncertain.
"No." Lurie shook his head as he drew nearer to them.. "Your chest muscles haven't healed enough yet. You'll also have lost muscular strength from being bedridden for three weeks." He shook his head again as he briefly touched Sara's forehead. She wearily moved her head away from his hand. "You're not strong enough; you'll fall or drop her."
Brass felt the other man was probably right; he sighed, exhaustion tugging at his already tapped reserves. "OK," he looked at the woman in front of him, his gaze trying to convey a level of confidence he really wasn't feeling. "How about this? I'll help you up and you can lean on me. You think you can do that, Sara?" One thick hand stroked her cool slim one in a gesture of reassurance.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration; as if she were mentally translating a language that was not her native tongue. After a few seconds, her brow cleared and she nodded, unable to do much else.
Brass took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the nervousness quivering through his chest. He slid his right arm around her waist and wrapped his left hand around her hand and pulled her, staggeringly, to uncertain feet.
Sara moaned and leaned heavily against him. Her breaths were coming in pained gasps. "I'm so sorry," he said quickly. "Did I hurt you?"
"S'ok," she mumbled swaying slightly,
But to Brass's eyes she didn't look ok. She looked paler than before and he hadn't thought that was possible.
She whimpered, "I think…" and she doubled over, as she heaved violently on the floor.
The noise of the vomit spattering on the floor sounded unnaturally loud to Brass's ears as he continued to hold Sara up. Lurie looked on with a dispassionate stare.
"Oh, God," she groaned and she clutched one hand across her stomach. When the heaving stopped she stayed bent and tried to catch her breath against the nausea and pain in her abdomen. She felt the wetness of her blood soaked pants sticking to her uncomfortably and made a grab for the blanket that was sliding off of her shoulders, all the while trying to focus her fuzzy mind on keeping it wrapped around her.
Jim Brass wanted to look at her face to gauge how she was doing but he couldn't move without letting go of her and he was sure if he let go, she would crumple to the floor. He turned to Lurie, who gazed back impassively, gun trained on both of them. The Captain swallowed his returning ire and bent down as far as he could to accommodate Sara. "Let me know when you think you can stand up."
She only moaned again in response; but after about thirty seconds she muttered "OK" and obviously bracing herself, she allowed Brass to bring her upright again. When she was vertical, she leaned heavily against him, resting her head on his shoulder; her eyes unfocused and half closed.
He didn't want to rush her. He wasn't a doctor, but it was obvious even to his untrained eye she was not doing well. The vomiting was a bad sign and the bleeding didn't appear to have slowed. But his main concern was the way she held herself; one arm was wrapped firmly around her midriff indicating she was feeling more than a moderate amount of pain despite her disoriented state. She moaned again and a tear escaped one dark eye, rolling slowly down her cheek.
Lurie studied Sara appraisingly. "We'll all go out together, Detective. Put her in the back seat of the car and I'll follow. Then you get behind the wheel and we leave." He met Brass's eyes with a deadly serious look. "If you try anything out of the ordinary, Sara gets a bullet to the brain…understood?"
Brass nodded carefully. He believed the man and that made what he was about to try all that much more dangerous.
"Good." He waved the gun at them, "Let's get going." His voice was brisk and businesslike.
Brass turned his head toward the woman resting against his shoulder. "Sara? You think you can move now?"
Her eyes opened; she looked at him with cloudy resignation. "Yeah," she rasped.
"OK; I got you. Just lean on me as much as you need to. We're going to go slow so you don't get sick again," he half aimed the last over his shoulder at Lurie.
They slowly made their way to the automatic doors and through them, Lurie moving in closer behind them and placing the gun against the back of Sara's head.
The three of them moved out onto the sidewalk together, almost as a single unit.
The car Brass had moved earlier was directly off the sidewalk in front of the door, blocking their view of the people behind the barricade as well as blocking sight of them from the cops and others watching them. The night was once again eerily quiet; Brass could hear every jagged breath Sara drew in. He mentally urged her to hang on, just a few more minutes and if everything went according to plan the nightmare would be over and she would have help.
They inched forward across the sidewalk in seeming slow motion; nearly all of Sara's weight was pressing on him. He wasn't sure how she even had the strength to move her feet.
He could feel Lurie's impatience, but he didn't give a damn. She couldn't move any faster and he wasn't going to try to make her. The quiet night around them throbbed with anticipation and tension.
Brass's hand was on the handle of the backdoor when a thunderous voice ripped through the silence. "Wheelman!"
For the second time in ten hours, Brass quickly wrapped his body around Sara's and dove with her to the ground, carefully pulling her as far to the right as he could, knowing the firepower would be coming from the left. He knew the impact of the pavement had to add to Sara's pain, but he couldn't shield her from that and keep her covered at the same time.
Brass did not get to see the surprised, confused look on Vincent Lurie's face as he and Sara fell to the sidewalk. Nor did he hear the cracks of the rifles. He did feel the hot spray of Lurie's blood (and probably some of his brains) against his head and neck just before the doctor's lifeless body dropped to the ground. He didn't move from covering Sara's body with his own until Ben Nichols was shaking his shoulder questioning him with adrenaline fueled urgency, "Captain Brass? Are you hit?"
"No! No!" He looked down at Sara. Her eyes were opened but unfocused; she was hanging on to consciousness by a thread. "Get the paramedics. She needs help right away! She's been bleeding for awhile. I think he drugged her. I think she's in pain."
Then Grissom was there, pushing Nichols out of the way and gently lifting Sara's head and torso off the pavement to cradle her against his chest. "Sara! Sara, Honey?" but she didn't seem to hear his anxious voice..
The rest of the nightshift CSIs, Ecklie and the others gathered around them. Catherine grabbed Brass in a short, fierce hug and Warrick squeezed a hand to his shoulder before they turned to the two people on the ground in front of them.
Grissom pressed a kiss to her temple, calling to her, "Sara, Sweetheart, can you hear me?"
Sara's eyelids lowered slowly, then raised again just as slowly as if the movement required the utmost concentration and skill. She was still fighting the unrelenting blackness. "Gris?" Her voice was a wavering rasp.
"I'm here, Honey," he pressed a fevered kiss onto her cheek and hugged her more tightly to him.
"I'm sorry," her voice was shaky.
"Sorry?" His own voice was thick with tears.
She pressed her face into his neck. He was so warm. He was her Grissom, he was warmth and love and safety. "The baby…"
He felt her exhale a small sob against his skin and he let his own tears fall into her hair.
The sat like that a moment, before he pressed another kiss onto the top of her head, at the same time trying desperately not to think about the blood and the distant look in her eyes. "You're safe; that's what matters." He was rocking her back and forth slightly either unaware or uncaring of Brass and the others surrounding them. "I love you, Sara," he whispered against her.
The paramedics were approaching with the stretcher.
She sighed against his neck, "Love you, too, Babe," and closed her eyes.
They wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance with her. He knew that, but he had to stay with her.
The two EMTs had pushed him back to take her vital signs and he looked on dumbly as they tended her.
"It looks like she's in shock."
"Get her loaded; One, two, three…"
Grissom's eyes never left her face as they lifted her and strapped her down with automatic efficiency.
"Ready? OK, let's transport."
He began following the wheeled gurney blindly, but Warrick grabbed his arm. "We'll follow her to the hospital; get in and we'll be on their tail when they take off."
Grissom looked at him blindly, seeming not to comprehend.
Warrick's voice was gentle as he spoke again. "Gris, man, they're not going to let you ride in the ambulance with her."
Brass, who had been struggling to get some poor unfortunate EMT to understand he didn't need any fucking treatment, thank you very much, broke away from the gurney they had been trying to get him on. Unmindful of the blood on his hands and clothing, he pushed Grissom toward Warrick's Denali. "Come on, Gil, let's go."
The silence in the SUV was thick and taut. Warrick was concentrating fiercely on driving, never letting the ambulance get more than fifteen feet ahead of them. Neither Grissom or Brass chose to speak; until they knew she was going to be all right there was no point in saying anything but all three of their thoughts were with Sara. The short drive to the hospital was done at break neck speed; complete with siren and lights. Despite the fact that it took only a few minutes, it seemed interminable to all three of them.
Warrick screeched into the bay right behind the ambulance carrying Sara. "Go on; I'll find you," he assured them.
They were out of the SUV and hovering before she was even unloaded.
As she was brought down, Grissom noted the EMTs had put her on oxygen and the blood was beginning to soak through the blanket covering her. More blood. His dread grew every time he was faced with the evidence of her blood. "Sara," he rasped and started towards her haltingly.
A burly male nurse in blue scrubs placed himself between Grissom and Sara. "Sir, I'm sorry, you need to stay out of the way and let us help her," he ordered, making it clear that they were hindering the process.
Grissom wanted to argue, but Brass was already pulling him through the doors to the emergency room waiting area. "She needs a doctor, Gil. Let them help her," he said gently as he guided Grissom into one of the hard plastic chairs.
They were silent for several minutes until finally, the CSI began to surface from the stunned state he was in. "Are you OK, Brass?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he scrubbed a hand over his face, not realizing he had transferred some of the blood from his hand to his face.
"You should probably let them check you out; you're recovering from major surgery." Grissom's voice was flat and unemotional; he felt as if he was in shock, as well.
"I'll think about it once I know Sara's gonna be OK." Brass solemnly looked straight ahead.
"Did…?" Grissom swallowed painfully noting the smear of blood on Brass's face. It was Sara's blood. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Brass shook his head. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let her eat or drink anything. I knew…" He lowered his head into his hands.
"What?" Grissom's brow furrowed, confusion marking his tanned face.
"He gave us sandwiches and this tea…he insisted she drink the tea but she said she didn't like it. He made her drink it. I should have known what he was up to. I should have done a better job protecting her." He raised his head and his face was a picture of pained sadness.
"Jim, it's not your fault," Grissom shook his head at his friend. "Lurie wanted her to lose the baby…he was going to accomplish that no matter what he had to do. He would have forced her no matter what." He swallowed, "He would have hurt her to get her to do what he wanted. He would have killed her, if it came down to it." His voice broke. "Not your fault. Lurie's the only one to blame." He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions; he thought it might feel a little like drowning would feel like. "I'm just grateful you were there with her and you took care of her. I can't ever thank you enough for that."
"Grissom! Is there any word?" Catherine had rounded the corner along with Warrick and Greg with Nick bringing up the rear. The others had followed them to the hospital shortly after they had left the store parking lot. Grissom expected Vartan, Ecklie, McKeen and any number of people from the lab to begin arriving as well.
"No, no word," he rubbed the back of his neck in a frustrated gesture.
Catherine hugged Brass again and he absently patted her back.
They all seated themselves, occasionally sneaking looks at Grissom, gauging his mood and reactions.
Warrick had felt the pieces of the puzzle slide into place when the night shift supervisor had to be held back from breaching the barricade after Brass had said Sara was bleeding. Everything had made sense then; his mentor's indefinable attitude during the night, Sara's pregnancy, Grissom's knowledge of the pregnancy.
Greg and Catherine had not put it together until they had heard the exchange between the couple after the ordeal was over.
Catherine had haltingly questioned Nick on the way to the hospital.
"You knew they were together?" She turned in her seat toward the backseat looking inquiringly at him.
Greg, who was driving, looked at the Texan in the rear view mirror gauging his reaction to Catherine's probing, however mild.
Nick rested his head against the back of the seat and sighed, eyes closed. "Yes." He didn't feel like facing this right now. He was still concerned about Sara, still hurting for her.
The blonde waited for him to say more; when he didn't she continued, "She told you?"
Nick shook his head, "No, I found out." His eyes remained closed, his voice resigned.
"How long have they been together?" Catherine persisted.
Slowly, Nick raised his head and gave her a hard look. "What does it matter Catherine? Sara's life is in danger and this is what you wanna talk about?" His anger was evident.
Catherine had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
"I thought," Greg cleared his throat, still working on swallowing his anxiety, "they've always been together. Even when they weren't together…like even if," he shrugged as he searched for the right words, "even if they were fighting or seeing other people, they still belonged together. It's like fate, you know?"
They did know.
"Family of Sara Sidle?" A short, balding man wearing thick glasses, scrubs and a white lab coat called out from the doorway leading to the emergency room.
Grissom stood and the doctor made his way over to the group. "I'm Dr. Monroe. Are you Ms Sidle's husband?"
"I'm her fiancé, Gil Grissom." The two men shook hands solemnly. "How is she?"
"We've got her stabilized, but she's lost a lot of blood. The EMTs said there were suspicions she had been drugged?"
Nick pulled an evidence bag with three prescription bottles from his pocket and handed them to the doctor. "Here."
Grissom and Brass both turned to look at the younger man.
He shrugged. "They were in Lurie's coat."
It was wrong and all of them knew it; the evidence should not have been removed from the scene without going through the proper procedures. Nobody cared; Grissom even looked grateful for the lapse.
The doctor accepted the bag and cleared his throat. "So, it was Dr. Lurie?" He shook his head. "I don't know him well but this just seems…well, obviously…I'm sorry." He cleared his throat again as he stumbled to a halt; he looked as if he wanted to apologize for his entire profession.
"We also suspect he gave her multiple doses of Mifepristone and possibly one of Misoprostol," Grissom added.
Dr. Monroe was studying the bottles in the bag, "But there's Coumadin in here! Combining these could be…" He looked up and stopped himself. The doctor contemplated the bottles in his hand. "My first instinct is to do a D&C to stop the bleeding, but obviously I don't want to do any type of surgery if she's been given a blood thinner; we'll run her blood to see what she has in her system and do the D&C as soon as we can."
Grissom's heart clenched at the doctor's mention of the procedure. He held his hand out in a staying motion, but he was unable to fully articulate what he wanted to say. All he could manage was, "The baby?" His face was blank, but his voice betrayed his wounded heart.
A look of realization and sympathy passed over the doctor's face. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Grissom. There's just no way the fetus could remain viable with this amount of blood loss. If the Mifepristone is what caused this, it was too late to save the fetus by the time the bleeding even started. I am sorry."
Grissom had suspected as much but had told himself to hold what hope he could until there was no hope to hold to. The bleak looks on the faces of those surrounding him must have been a mirror to his own. The thick, sharp pain in the middle of his chest was his alone, though.
But Sara was alive and that was more important than anything. "Can I see her?" He asked hesitantly.
"She's in and out of consciousness, but you can sit with her until we get the blood work back."
He led Grissom to a curtained off cubicle where the lights had been dimmed. Sara, normally fair, was ghostly pale against the pillow. They had gotten her into a hospital gown and pulled a sheet half way up her torso.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. When she didn't respond, he brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, his strong hand stroking her jaw as he did so.
Glancing at the monitors surrounding her, he noted her vital signs looked good and all of the machine readouts where steady. Above her there stood an IV pole with a bag of blood hanging from it; the bright red line trailing from it snaked its way into Sara's hand.
He swallowed his grief as his eyes swept over her. Their baby was gone.
He was to blame. If he hadn't been such a coward, if he had claimed her from the first moment he wanted to, their first child would probably be starting the fifth grade in the fall, not about to be discarded in a hospital biohazard waste bucket. If he had had the courage to claim her and not be afraid of her leaving him, hurting him, they would probably have been married for years now. Everyone would know they belonged together. They would be a couple with a family.
When he had first met her, he knew she was meant for him. He might never be brave enough to claim her, but he knew he would never love anyone the way he was meant to love her.
He had told himself she was too young, that she needed to live before they could be together. Yes, that even meant she needed to have other relationships first before they settled into forever.
But that was the analytical scientist's thinking. When he was faced with the actual fact of her having those relationships he had rationalized she needed, he suddenly found himself to be a possessive Neanderthal and punished her for it. He'd hurt her, hated her, gave up on her and never stopped loving her the whole time. It hurt him now to know how much pain he'd caused her, how much time he had wasted trying to protect himself.
Years wasted, punishing her for his own fear of being hurt by her.
Years wasted, thinking he could stop loving her, denying that they were meant to be together.
But there was no denying that she was his love, his mate, his partner in forever and…
She was alive.
He bent and pressed another kiss to her forehead, one more to her cheek and a very soft one to her lips.
Despite the fear and the tension of the previous hours, despite the sharp and raw loss of their baby, she was alive and that was worth thanking every deity and mysterious power ever acknowledged in the universe.
He silently sent prayers of joy and thanksgiving that despite being a coward and a fool, he had this woman in his life. Whether he deserved it or not, he had one more chance.
Grissom pulled a chair up next to the bed and clasped the hand that didn't have the IV line. Reverently, he brought the back of her hand to his lips once, twice, three times and then rubbed it against his cheek.
He sat for a long while simply watching her sleep. She was pale, but she looked peaceful.
After a while, he wasn't sure how long, her eyes fluttered open. It seemed to take her a minute to get her bearings, but she looked infinitely more aware and focused than she had when they had first been reunited in the store's parking lot.
"Hospital?" she croaked.
"Yes," he nodded, his thumb stroking across the back of the hand he still held. "How do you feel?"
"Groggy," then she added, sadly, "Empty" and turned her head away from him.
"Sara," he began, but he didn't really know what to say. "Honey, look at me."
She kept her face turned from him and he was sure she was crying. He thought of forcing her to look at him, but she had been forced enough to last her a lifetime.
"Sara, Sweetheart," he thought for a moment words might fail him as they had so often in the past. "I love you," he said softly, almost whispering. "I'm not asking you to not be upset about losing the baby. I'm so sad right now, it's almost intolerable." He stroked her hair. "The only thing that makes it even remotely bearable is knowing you're here; not just alive, but here with me and we're facing it together."
She turned her head back to face him, her chocolate eyes extremely large in her pallid face, tear tracks streaking her cheeks.
"I can't comprehend a life without you, Honey. You can be as sad as you want to be and grieve as much as you need to, but you can't shut me out. We're in this together, forever."
She studied him for a moment and her lip trembled, "It's my fault."
He shook his head, "No…no, it's not."
She swallowed down a sob. "He told me he was going to get rid of the baby…I just didn't think he'd do anything while we were in there." She shuddered violently. "I think he put something in the tea…I shouldn't have eaten or drank anything…I was stupid and careless and I let him kill my baby." She was crying in earnest now.
He gathered her up as much as the IV and monitor lines would allow and held onto her, allowing her to cry against him.
When the fierce sobs had quieted to muffled sniffles, he tried again, "Sara, do you blame Brass?"
"Of course not," her voice was a mixture of horror and indignation at the suggestion.
"Well, I basically had the same conversation with him in the waiting room a little earlier. He thinks he should have done a better job protecting you or that he should have figured it out."
"That doesn't make any…" she acknowledged what she was about to say and sighed out a small hiccupping sob.
Grissom stroked his hand down her cheek. "Lurie is the only one to blame. Not you, not Brass, not me. Lurie and Lurie alone." He shook his head at her. "Sara, if he wanted you to take those drugs, you were going to take those drugs…He would have killed you to get you to do what he wanted." He felt a wicked shiver pass through him. "He almost killed you as it is." Terror rolled through him at the thought. He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed at the feel of her breath across his face. "I can endure a lot of things, Honey. But living without you is not one of them."
A slight smile lit his face as he felt her press a small kiss to his cheek before she pressed her mouth to his ear to whisper, "I love you, Gil."
"I love you, Sara," his voice was a tender caress.
The doctor came in a few minutes later saying it looked as though Lurie had not given her much of the blood thinner, just multiple doses of the Mifepristone, Vicodin and the sedative. They would be able to do the D&C, which the doctor tactfully referred to as the procedure, right away to stop the bleeding.
After Sara was wheeled away to the OR, Grissom plodded back out to the waiting room where the number of people waiting had grown beyond Brass and the night shift crew to include McKeen, Ecklie, Vartan, Doc Robbins and most of the lab techs.
As he approached, the group of people looked at him with wary concern on their faces, searching for some sign in his countenance of what news to expect from him. He smiled wearily, "She's going to be all right."
Sara came down the stairs into the kitchen with her white gold dragonfly necklace in her hand. It was a perfect compliment to the burgundy sweater she was wearing but she couldn't manage the clasp.
She walked up behind Grissom who was laying out food and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Something smells good;" she pressed her nose against his neck.
"Something feels good," he replied salaciously as he clasped his hands over hers and pressed himself back into her chest.
She laughed, lightly. "Down, boy. Our guests will be arriving any minute…plenty of time for that later, Dr. Grissom."
He turned in her arms and pulled her against him, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Is that a promise, Mrs. Grissom?"
"Oh, definitely," she replied in a sultry tone and she pressed her lips and body against his.
They broke the kiss after a heated moment and he grumbled, "Just whose damned bright idea was this whole party thing?" He wished they could just retire to the bedroom.
"Yours," she answered briskly. "Here" she handed him the necklace and turned so her back was to him, "Do this for me," and she gathered her hair up and away from her neck.
"I'd much rather do you," he breathed against the nape of her neck, pressing a wet kiss there.
She shivered. "Mmm…hmmm…Guests? Christmas party? Ring any bells?"
He grumbled behind her back but began fastening the necklace.
Her eyes glanced around the kitchen noting the empty playpen in the corner and the equally empty high chair by the table. "Where is Her Majesty the Princess Queen Empress of the Universe?"
"Oh," a faint flush appeared on his cheeks. "Early arrival," he jerked his head towards the living room.
She huffed, "Gilbert Grissom, you're making out with me in the kitchen without letting me know that one of our guests has arrived and has our daughter?"
A smirking look on his face, he maturely countered, "You started it."
She tried to look stern, but ended up laughing at him.
It didn't matter; he would have known she was amused by him anyway. He knew her better than he knew himself. In the eighteen months since the night at the health food store, they had only grown closer, their relationship deeper. The connection they'd always had was strengthened by the tragedy.
There had been adjustments and tears as they struggled together to recover from the events of that night and the loss of their first baby. There were tears of joy and sadness the first time they made love after that night, tears of joy at their wedding and more tears when they found out Sara was pregnant again; the memory of what Lurie had done to them marred the times that should only have held joy for them, but that pain and grief had eventually faded.
The first trimester of this pregnancy had been a dichotomy of unrestrained exhilaration and nervous apprehension. They had been scared senseless when Sara went into labor a month early but it turned out there was nothing wrong, just Ms. Jamie Brass Grissom (or Jamie B. as Greg and Warrick called her) wanting to get out into the world and see what was happening.
Grissom had looked at her with an odd expression on his face, eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of his forehead. "You want to give my daughter the middle name Brass?"
She had looked at him completely innocently, "Yeah."
"Honey, that's just not normal," he kissed the newborn's tiny head.
She had given him one of her smirks and said, "Normal? You do realize we're her parents right? So, your point is?"
He had blinked at her. "Yeah. OK."
Sara made her way to the door between the living room and the kitchen and eased it open. Jim Brass held the seven month old next to the Christmas tree, trying to interest her in the shining lights. She, however, was much more interested in pulling on his nose. After a few minutes, he stopped trying to interest her in the baubles and lights and began to pretend to bite at her tiny fingers, his lips covering his teeth, making "MMMM" sounds much to Jamie's glee. Very soon the living room was filled with her baby giggles.
Sara couldn't help laughing and Brass turned to her with the baby securely cuddled against his chest. "We do still have the running agreement about you not revealing any of my losses of dignity that are attributable to your daughter, right?"
Jamie Grissom had every male in her world securely wrapped around her tiniest finger, but it was hard to find any as tightly wrapped as "Grandpa Jim," with the possible exception of her doting father.
Sara pursed her lips tightly together to hold in another laugh and her eyes danced merrily as she nodded at him.
He straightened himself with as much stateliness as he could muster holding a baby who seemed intent on exploring his eye socket.
Sara's lips trembled with laughter and her voice quivered. "You, uh, want me to take her?"
One tiny hand was completely covering his left eye, but he still managed a haughty, "No, thank you, we're fine." He would not willing give the baby up for anything. He was very well aware he made an idiot of himself on a regular basis over the little girl, but he did so gladly.
"OK," she snorted back a laugh.
He cut her a mock glare and transferred Jamie to his other arm where she promptly began exploring his ear. "So, who all is going to be at this shindig?"
"The usual suspects," she answered with a shrug as she bent down to pick up a few toys from the floor and deposit them in the basket in the corner. "Oh, Nick's in town! Warrick said he'd bring him along after he made him help out at the rec center's Christmas party."
Nick had left Vegas shortly after the wedding and moved back to Dallas as a CSI in their lab. Sara had been dejected at the loss of her friend.
"Gil, you need to talk to him! He'll stay if you ask him to," she pleaded with her husband as they snuggled in bed.
"Sara, he's doing what is best for him; you need to respect that," he eyed her seriously.
"You know why he's leaving." It wasn't a question.
"I have a good idea," he stroked his large hands down her back.
She knew if she pressed he would tell her, but if it was something she should know he would have already told her. She chewed on her lip. "Is he…" she hesitated, "Is he OK?"
Her husband pressed a kiss to her temple, "I believe he will be."
So, she let it go.
"Cath is bringing an actual date! I think her period of self-imposed celibacy is finally up. Lindsey will probably be grateful; the last time she babysat she said she and Catherine were as bonded as they were ever gonna get." She laughed. "I think she's had as much mother-daughter time as she can stand." She eyed the man in front of her, "Speaking of quality daughter time, is Ellie coming for Christmas?"
He looked at his watch then back up at her with shining eyes "Her plane arrives in four hours."
She grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Good. We'll expect both of you for Christmas dinner."
"Hey!" Grissom had entered the room silently. "You're holding one of my girls and got the other one kissing you. Is that fair?" The balance of the equation was seriously thrown off when Jamie tried to launch herself out of Brass's arms and into her father's. "I gotcha, lady bug," her father scooped her up and lifted her high in the air much to her delight.
Brass snorted. "Fickle."
"Just a Daddy's girl," Sara sighed as she rubbed a hand over her daughter's head smoothing her still fine baby hair. Jamie was her mother in miniature with the exception of big blue eyes and a dimpled chin.
Grissom slipped his arm around his wife with his daughter in his other arm. "I can't help how blessed I am."
"That's the best blessing in life," Sara said seriously. "Knowing when you are blessed. It took me awhile to learn that counting blessings causes them to multiply. I have my family and my friends and as long as I have those, I've always got one more chance to have a good life."