Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and review - you make my day!

And to good ol' sweet-surrender5 for the beta - how you fit it all in is a complete mystery to me!

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Walking Shadows

Grissom would never have a clear idea of exactly what happened in the immediate aftermath of pulling that trigger. Everything was a complete blur, nothing more than a seemingly endless succession of disjointed images and intelligible sounds.

He was faintly aware of sinking to his knees, the gun still clasped in a vice like grip even as it connected with the frozen ground in a dull thud. Of Catherine wrenching herself free from the assailant's limp body and taking a couple of unsteady steps before crumpling in a heap against the face of the rock, sobbing uncontrollably. Of Brass rushing past him, his gun trained on the lifeless form slumped at the base of the boulder, while shouting something into his radio that Grissom couldn't make out.

And of the boy, sprawled on the ground, his shoulders propped against the rock behind him, the ghastly wound above his right eye oozing a crimson stream of blood that seemed to gush like a raging waterfall in the beam of Brass's flashlight.

Grissom barely noticed when the detective started securing the scene, when the cops ran to him - past him, when Brass knelt at Catherine's side, trying awkwardly to comfort her without touching her, or when a car came to a screeching halt somewhere behind them, even though the sudden harsh rays from its headlights were like needles stabbing his eyes.

He saw only the ghoulish, eerie silhouettes that were bouncing around on the rock in front of him like a macabre troupe of shadow puppets.

Life is but a walking shadow…life is but a walking shadow…life is but a walking shadow…

Over and over and over the phrase repeated in his head, until he wanted to slam his fists into the ground and scream the refrain into the murky night, hoping – praying – that the icy desert breeze would pick it up and waft it away, and by doing so, somehow release him from the prison he could feel closing in around his mind and his heart.

But none of the words escaped his lips. The only thing he did allow his overwrought body to let go of, were the unsteady breaths he found impossible to control. He wasn't even able to release the gun he was still clinging to - clutching it with such force that when Brass eventually came over to him, the detective needed both his hands to pry Grissom's stiff fingers open, so he could take the weapon into evidence.

"Gil."

The detective's voice was gentle as he crouched next to the hunkered down frame in front of him. Grissom hadn't moved a muscle since dropping to the ground and – Brass noted with concern – he also hadn't stopped staring at the prostrate body of the dead boy in front of him. The CSI was like a statue, his face subconsciously rearranging itself into an unreadable mask – a trick, Brass knew, that Grissom had perfected years ago. But it was a ploy that he'd never quite been able to master when it came to his eyes, and looking into them now, Jim was alarmed at the intensity of the emotions he saw swirling around in their indigo depths.

"Grissom," the detective tried again - a little firmer this time – as he softly placed a hand on the shoulder in front of him. "I have to take the gun…" But those blue eyes never even blinked and Brass was forced to loosen the unyielding fingers one at a time, until he could slip the weapon from the CSI's grasp. Lifting his arm slightly, he handed it to the policeman waiting next to his shoulder, and the young cop slipped it into a plastic evidence bag before leaving the two older men alone in the sea of activity around them.

"Catherine…"

Grissom's voice was muffled and Brass was startled to hear the unmistakable tremor in his voice. It was completely understandable, but still – in all the years he had known Gil Grissom, the man had never allowed any show of sentiment to crack through his hardened shell of efficient professionalism.

"She's okay. Shaken up obviously - but okay."

"Where…"

"In the ambulance. The paramedics are just checking her out before they take her to Desert Palms."

Brass was greatly relieved when Grissom finally blinked, and slowly twisted his body to look at the ambulance behind him. Groaning slightly, the CSI lethargically got to his feet and shook his head slightly as if he was trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. The numbness that had paralysed his body and mind was starting to wane, but along with the sensations that were slowly returning to his stiff muscles and joints, came the unwelcome flashes and images of what had happened, so sharp that it felt like a stab wound through his temple. He shook his head again - angrily, muttering under his breath, wishing that Brass would just leave him alone and give him a minute to gather his thoughts.

The last thing he needed now, was the sympathy he could see shining in his friend's eyes.

"I want to see her." The words were flat, impassive – all he could manage while being reasonably sure that he could keep his emotions in check. Don't look at Jim, don't look at the boy, just breathe…

Breathe…

Breathe.

"Sure, go ahead." And with tacit understanding, Brass backed off, turned around and strode to the small group of policemen clustered around the dead body, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he walked.

Grissom trudged to the ambulance, hardly aware of the cops that seemed to be swarming everywhere, and passed by David, who was waiting next to the coroner's van, without even acknowledging the younger man's presence. Upon reaching the open back of the ambulance, he took a shuddering breath, before lifting his eyes to glimpse inside.

Catherine was lying motionless in the back, while a paramedic gently held an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, but she was no longer crying and the deep cut on her forehead was clean and bandaged. However, the bruises and swelling had started to appear and Grissom gasped as he took in the lumps and angry red blotches on her face and neck.

He had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep his face neutral and it took a few, long seconds before he trusted his voice enough to speak to her.

"Hey." He honestly couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment – everything in his head sounded so impossibly trite and banal.

Catherine gave him a tired smile through the oxygen mask, but didn't reply. Not knowing what else to do, Grissom simply sought out her hand and held the trembling fingers loosely before giving them a soft squeeze. Then he turned away and walked over to Brass who was coming towards him.

"I need to take you to the station to get your statement. Ecklie's been notified, he'll get somebody from swing shift to come and process here."

Grissom nodded mutely, but didn't immediately follow Brass to the waiting squad car.

"I…I need…to…call…"

Glancing at his friend with infinite understanding, Brass gave a small nod and motioned encouragingly with his hand.

"Don't worry, I already did. Sara will meet us there."

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A/N: Hooray! Sara finally (sort of) makes an appearance...