Disclaimer: not mine, would you give it a rest already?
A/N: okay so I've had strep throat, (worst thing ever), so let's blame, yet again, any mistakes I made on that, alright darlings? Now I know the second half of the last chapter was on the drier side, what with all the loose ends needing to be tied up, so hopefully this one will make up for it. Please review; you know it makes me happy. All my love,
Solomynne
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Be careful what you wish for.
Sara and Joslyn stood in the crime lab parking lot; waiting for the small contingent of people it was going to take to securely transport Charlie Pierce to where he'd hidden the key piece of evidence. It was a warm night, and the stars twinkled down at them merrily from their inky canopy, wishing them luck. Joslyn had been very quiet since the heavy interview with Charlie, and Sara could tell her young partner was deep in thought. She watched as Joslyn stared into the night sky, face tilted upward as she absent-mindedly chewed her bottom lip.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Sara ventured to break her friend's train of thought, "Hey. Are you okay?"
Joslyn snapped back to reality, turning to look at Sara in the darkness. "Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled.
The night wind played with Sara's curls as she worked up the courage to ask, "Are you thinking about what Charlie said to you? About your mother?"
Joslyn turned her attention back to the heavens before answering softly. "Yes."
Sara waited, but Joslyn didn't elaborate. She knew that if ever she should tell Joslyn about her own mother, it was now. Looking at the full moon above them, Sara took a deep breath and said slowly, "You know Joslyn, I know what it's like." Joslyn still refused to look at her, which Sara was grateful for as it made it easier for her to say what needed to be said. "Growing up…my dad was abusive. He and my mother were constantly getting into huge battles with each other. I can't tell you how many times I hid in my closet and wished for it all to end. Prayed for it to just be over." Sara looked to see that Joslyn was staring at her, her almond eyes brimming with tears. Now or never. "And then one day…my wish came true. My mother snapped, she couldn't take it anymore. After she killed him," Joslyn put a hand to her mouth, "I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I barely saw my mother over the next few years. So like I said, I know what it's like to feel abandoned. Just remember, your mother has no idea what she gave up when she left you. And I'm sure you aren't the reason for her leaving." Joslyn just continued to stare at her with a pained expression on her face.
Sara felt horrible and wonderful at the same time. Horrible for having to relive those moments, and wonderful for finally having found someone who could understand, rather than just sympathize. Sara felt so relieved and emotional she thought she might burst into tears. "Say something Jos."
A single tear traced its way down Joslyn's face, glistening like the stars that hung over them, that watched over them.
She reached out and took Sara's hand in her own. "I'm so sorry," she said in her unmistakable voice, "I'm so sorry that such awful things happened to you. Because I can tell you right now you're the last person to deserve it." She brushed away Sara's tears gently with her thumb. "And I'm so honored that you trust me enough to share that with me." Sara pulled her into a tight hug, resting her cheek on top of Joslyn's head.
A cheerful honking brought them quickly out of the moment, each woman hastily wiping her eyes as they squinted in the bright headlights of Grissom's Tahoe. "You two ready?" he called out the window. Each nodded as they hoisted their kits off the ground and hopped in, Greg moving over in the back to make room for Joslyn. They followed behind Brass' car as Charlie directed Brass and his officers away from the strip. Thirty minutes later, with the casino lights far behind them, they found themselves crossing the train tracks at the edge of town. Brass radioed to tell them it wasn't long now, and sure enough five minutes later they saw his red break lights glowing in the darkness like a pair of demonic eyes.
Grissom stopped the car and the four of them jumped out, stretching as they took a look at their surroundings. It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere, which wasn't hard to get to considering they lived in the desert. The lights of The Strip could be seen twinkling on the horizon like distant stars. It was hard to tell in the inky night, without the neon lights of civilization to brighten the way, but to Sara it looked like they were at an old, unused train station. The decaying platform, (the ticket booth and waiting area having long ago been reduced to rubble), was all that was left. It teetered precariously at the edge of a steep ridge, and part of an old bridge led away from the platform, sloping down to become level with the ground. She could only guess that this was once a regular stop for the old steam engines that used to come around during the mining days; the trains having disappeared along with the gold.
"Wow," breathed Greg, looking up in awe, "the stars are so bright out here!"
Grissom gazed up appreciatively, the stars reflecting off his glasses. "Yeah, it's easier to see them away from town. Normally the lights from the city would block them out, but here in the desert, there's nothing to drown out their light." Sara, marveling at the celestial beauty before her, hardly noticed as she reached out a hand and slipped it into Grissom's, curling her long fingers tightly around his. He glanced over at her, trying to decide what was more beautiful, the spectacle before him, or her sweet face, when Brass' voice cut through the darkness.
"Hey, you guys coming, or what?" The four of them tore their eyes from the sky and turned to follow as Charlie determinedly made his way down the ridge. There were a few slips and stumbles on the way down, especially for Sara who was doing it one-handed, but with a little help from each other they all made it down in one piece. The bridge now loomed some 15 feet above their heads, and each of them eyed its shoddy construction as Charlie pointed to an old, broken down truck that sat directly beneath it. It appeared that he'd been using the car as a makeshift shelter, old blankets balled up in the truck's cab.
"How the Hell do you even get out here?" Brass asked Charlie as they neared the truck, "It's too far to walk."
Charlie shrugged, his orange jumpsuit standing out even in the darkness. "I hitch a ride most of the way from tourists on their way out of town. I like it out here, it's quiet. I never have to worry about other street people being on my turf. You'd be surprised how territorial they can get. Besides," he gestured to an old coal cart that was brimming with dirty water, "I've got pretty much everything I need out here. Drinking water, a place to sleep…" They'd reached the old truck by this point, Charlie's filthy knapsack visible in the driver's seat.
Charlie went to open the car door but Brass put a hand on his wrist. "Hold it right there cousin, we'll take it from here. Grissom?" he called over his shoulder.
"I got it," said Sara, snapping on her gloves. She stepped forward, and with some difficulty, wrenched open the rusty driver's side door. She had leaned in for the bag and grasped a dirt-encrusted shoulder strap, when she felt something cold being pressed against her temple.
"Drop it," came a deep voice from the backseat.
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Sara's entire body was rigid, seized with fear. Her tongue had gone numb, palms sweaty.
"I said drop it," the cold voice repeated, the gun pressed harder into her temple. Sara complied, dropping the bag as she kneeled half in, half out of the car. "Get in and shut the door behind you," the voice ordered. Sara quickly slid into the truck, pulling the heavy door shut after her. She dared to steal a glance into the backseat, able only to discern the outline of a formidable figure in the darkness; a shadow of a large man who had his gun trained directly between her eyes. She heard a faint whimpering and looked over, noticing for the first time that there was someone else in the back. It took her a moment to realize that it was Marjorie Hudson, Charlie's mother. She was bound and gagged, huddled in the seat.
Sara's mind was reeling. What should she do? Eventually someone was going to come in after her, and what then? "Look," she said, voice shaking, the mildewy odor of the decaying car upholstery filling her nose, "there is an entire squad car of policemen sitting outside. Just what do you think you're going to get away with?"
The man barked a cruel laugh, making Sara jump. "You think I'm here alone?" Sara's stomach dropped at the words, as she heard the sound of car doors opening, and several pairs of feet crunching across the dry desert floor.
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Outside, the others were starting to wonder what Sara was up to when the sound of approaching footsteps turned their attention behind them. In the darkness they hadn't even noticed the black SUV parked just meters away. Now, as four men in dark suits, guns out, closed in on them, Grissom found himself wondering how they could've missed it. They all turned back as the shriek of metal on metal tore through the night. The door to the truck was opening, and a very pitiful looking Marjorie Hudson was tumbling out. Mouth gagged and hands tied behind her back, she fell to the ground in a very ungraceful heap. She groaned, and after a moment managed to struggle into a subdued kneeling position.
"Mom!" called Charlie, taking a step towards her. The sounds of a gun's hammer being cocked stopped him dead in his tracks. Greg took Joslyn by the elbow and pulled her behind him, taking her out of the line of fire. None of the team was quite sure where to look as they stood, frozen, with a group of thugs on one side and a very tense scene unfolding on the other. Sara could now be seen being forced out of the truck at gunpoint, a large man stepping out of the backseat, grabbing her by the hair.
Brass, one hand training his gun on Sara's assailant, had to use all his strength to keep Grissom from shooting her captor and getting them all killed. Joslyn couldn't bear to see the terrified expression on Sara's face, so she buried her own into Greg's back, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for it to all be over.
"Alright, nobody move!" yelled Brass. He knew the two officers he'd brought along were staring at him, waiting for his signal. For a moment, time stopped as each side waited to see what the other would do. No one moved, no one breathed, until in a heartbeat, all Hell broke loose. One of what they could only assume were the Senator's lackeys fired a warning shot at Brass' officers. After that it was every man for himself as both sides opened fire, Brass yelling into his radio for backup.
Greg grabbed Joslyn and pulled her down to the desert floor, pinning her underneath him as the bullets cracked overhead. Brass crouched down and pulled Grissom with him, desperately looking for something to use as cover. He spotted what looked like parts of a sliding door that belonged on a train car leaning up against a rock, and he dove behind it, pulling Grissom with him as the bullets whizzed past.
Joslyn, face pressed into the sand, looked up from her breathless position under Greg's body, his hand covering her head protectively. She could see Sara was still being held hostage, and as she watched helplessly Sara turned and they made eye contact. As their eyes locked each knew what they had to do. Sara gave a barely perceptible nod, and after waiting until her captor was distracted, she tossed the backpack containing the Holy Grail of evidence as close as she could get it to Joslyn. Joslyn, not waiting to see what the gunman would do to Sara for it, rolled out from under Greg, who yelled after her as she scrambled to retrieve the backpack. She half ran, half crawled, stumbling and staggering through the air full of bullets. "I'm sorry!" she called to Greg as she took off into the night.
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She ran as fast and as far as she could, without really knowing where she was headed. In the end it didn't really matter, they were in the open desert, so there weren't many places for her to go. All she knew was she had to get as far away from the gunfire as possible, so she could try to find somewhere to stash the knapsack. Unfortunately, her mad dash across the battlefield had caught the attention of one of the Senator's men, and she could hear the bullets whistling past her as she ran, some coming so close the shots kicked up the sand at her heels. After about six or seven shots, the gunman gave up on trying to shoot her, but the pursuit was still on. Joslyn could hear heavy footsteps gaining ground on her with every passing second until, in an instant, she felt a fist strike her in the back of the neck, taking her down hard.
She tumbled, head over feet, before landing flat on her back, looking up to see a large silhouette hovering over her. Dazed, she could do nothing as the man wrenched the precious backpack out of her grip. She rolled onto her side and struggled to get to her feet, but she was knocked down again, a heavy boot kicking her onto her stomach and coming to rest on her back. Pinned to the ground, she struggled, squirming under the weight of his foot on her back, but it was no use. After she'd given up, he lifted his foot from her and took hold of her neck with a meaty hand, dragging her into a standing position. He forced her to walk a few feet further into the desert, stopping them in front of a coal cart like the one Charlie Pierce used to hold his drinking water.
This one was also full to the brim with water, although water really wasn't the right word for it. It looked like liquid rust. Joslyn felt his grip on her neck tighten as he looped his fingers through her hair, using it to tilt her face back until their eyes met.
"No one gets away from me," he growled, giving her head a vigorous shake. "No one."
"Screw you," she spat at him defiantly, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming.
But instead of being hit, she felt herself being lifted off the ground like a rag doll, and tossed one-handed into the deep cart. The filthy, metallic-tasting water burned her eyes and nose as she sputtered, splashing and flailing until she managed to hook an arm over the rim of the cart. She clung to the edge, shivering, her hair plastered to her head in thick ropes. Blinded by the fragments of rust in her eyes, she could only hear a cold laugh coming nearer as she felt strong arms taking her by the shoulders and shoving her back into the water.
She screamed as her head plunged into the awful liquid, her mouth and nose filling with the rancid water. She felt his hand on her head, holding her under as she clawed at his arms, kicking and flailing as hard as she could. Her lungs were on fire, and all she could think of was that she was dying to inhale, inhale, take a breath, just one breath.
She fought the urge as long as she could until finally, she gave in and drew in a heavy mouthful of the rusty water. It burned her insides like fire as it soared down her throat, filling her lungs. Never before had she felt this kind of frenzied panic. She clawed furiously at the arms that held her underwater, raking her nails across the thick wrists. She heard a muffled cry from above the surface as her long nails dug deep into his flesh, but his grip didn't even loosen a fraction.
Joslyn felt herself growing weaker, her mind becoming fuzzy as every cell within her screamed for oxygen. At last she stopped thrashing against him, letting her tired body go limp as she sank to the cart's grimy bottom. She was barely conscious of the muted gunshot she heard screaming above the surface of the water. She fought hard to stay awake as she felt strong arms latching onto her shirt collar, hoisting her to safety.
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Greg scooped her lifeless body out of the coal cart and hastily placed her, dripping, on the desert floor, rolling her onto her side. With a few strategic smacks to the back, he watched as Joslyn's body emptied itself of the water within. Coughing and retching, the rusted water poured out of her in what seemed like buckets, making a river in the sand. When there was nothing left inside her lungs, she rolled onto her back in exhaustion, drawing huge gulps of air.
Greg couldn't help himself from flashing back to the heart-stopping moment when he'd seen the man holding her underwater. Even at a distance he'd been able to see her arms and legs thrashing wildly, frothing the water in a desperate attempt for freedom.
He put a hand on her forehead and pushed aside the wet strands of hair that clung to her face. She flinched at his touch and it was then that he realized she couldn't see. Her eyes were covered in a rust colored film, blurring her vision. "It's okay Jos, it's just me, it's Greg. Don't worry we're going to get you out of here, okay?"
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention away from her as he saw Sara flying towards them at top speed. Grissom and Brass were hot on her heels, but neither were a match for her long legs. Hair flying, and sling flapping like the wing of an injured bird, Sara collapsed to her knees beside them, cupping a hand behind Joslyn's neck.
"Is she okay?" she panted. "Was she hit?"
"No," Greg assured her, "No she managed to dodge the bullets, but the bastard knocked her down and tried to drown her in that old coal cart." Greg gestured to the semi-conscious heap of a man that lay a few feet away.
"So what happened?"
"He must have tossed his gun when he was running after her. I grabbed it and took care of him, and then I pulled her out of there."
Sara's eyes whipped to his face, voice dropping, "You shot him?"
"In the shoulder, he'll be fine!" defended Greg. "What the Hell was I supposed to do Sara he was trying to kill her! He very nearly did kill her."
Sara turned her attention back to Joslyn, whose breathing had become harsh, and ragged.
She and Greg exchanged dark looks. Greg spoke quickly, "I think there's silt from the water caught in her lungs. It's in her eyes too, look." He gestured to the rusty flecks visible in the whites of Joslyn's eyes, which were rolling sporadically back in her head.
Sara put an ear to her friend's chest, listening to her breathing. Greg was right, she was wheezing, she wasn't getting enough oxygen. "We've got to get her to a hospital," she called to Brass and Grissom, who were just closing in on them.
"Is it safe to go back?" asked Greg. When he'd left, the gunfire had still been going strong.
Sara nodded, eyes still fixed on Joslyn who was slipping in and out of consciousness.
"Back-up got here just in the nick of time. One of Brass' guys was hit in the chest but he was wearing Kevlar, and Grissom was grazed in the arm, but nothing too serious." Greg looked up and saw a dark stain on Grissom's shirtsleeve.
Brass looked down at them, "Ambulance will be here any minute, but they're going to have a Hell of a time getting gurneys down that ridge."
"Well I won't have any problems carrying Joslyn back, but I don't know what we're going to do with him," said Greg, jerking a thumb in the direction of Joslyn's would-be killer.
"We could dump out the coal cart and push him back in it," said Sara.
"Works for me," agreed Grissom, motioning for Brass to help him turn over the cart. With minimal effort they managed to tip it, the water rushing out and off into the desert sand, pooling like an oasis. The two of them then proceeded to hoist the man unceremoniously into the cart, where he landed with a hollow thud. "Let's start getting back," finished Grissom, wincing as he used his injured arm to push the coal cart across the sand.
Greg leaned down and picked up Joslyn, lifting her with ease.
She was soaked to the bone, her wet clothes clinging to her like Saran Wrap. He could feel her shivering against him as they began to walk back to the cars. "It's okay, Jos, almost there," he assured her. They could hear the sirens whining in the distance, the red lights visible on the horizon.
Everyone made sure to give the "battlefield" a wide berth, knowing the rest of the team would probably be there soon to start collecting evidence. It would be up to them to prove the events of the evening to I.A., making sure that no one within the department was laid to blame for the shootout. The foursome of men in suits were being corralled into the squad cars that had been brought by back-up, each of them glaring at the CSIs that walked past.
As for Greg, Grissom was slightly worried that I.A. may suspend him. After all, not only did he shoot a civilian, he wasn't licensed to be carrying a gun. But that wasn't important right now, what was important was that he got all of his guys the Hell out of there while they were still alive. He was becoming more and more concerned about Joslyn's condition. She had stopped shivering, and was now hanging; limp, in Greg's arms. He was afraid she might have some kind of heavy metal poisoning.
The two ambulances pulled up at the top of the ridge and four paramedics jumped out, climbing down to help everyone get back up onto the platform. Sara was grateful to see that Hank was not among them this time.
Marjorie Hudson, who was being held along with her son Charlie, was loaded into one ambulance along with the man Greg had shot. Grissom and Joslyn got in the next one, Sara climbing in after them. There was no room for Greg in the back of the crowded truck, so he offered to follow along behind them in the Tahoe.
Grissom watched out the truck's window as an officer in the distance began to wind crime scene tape around the perimeter of the scene. This was supposed to be so simple. But, just like the rest of this case, it had become more complicated than any of them could have imagined. All they'd come to do was get the backpack, but it looked like the Senator, after interrogating Marjorie, had come to the same conclusion as they had. The envelope was the key.
Speaking of the envelope…
"Hey," Grissom turned to Sara, who was sitting in the space between the gurney he was sitting on, and the one that held Joslyn.
"I've got it right here," she said, not letting him finish his question. She held up the filthy backpack like the trophy that it was. It had nearly cost them all their lives. Both of them were thinking the same thing as she came to sit beside him on the gurney, resting her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and they both looked on as the paramedic tended to Joslyn.
"She'll be okay, Sara. Greg got to her just in time. She may be a little water-logged, but she'll be okay."
Sara lifted her head, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Yeah, she'll be fine," she concurred, sounding like she was trying to convince herself but wasn't doing a very good job. She looked at him and leaned in, giving him a chaste kiss, which he reciprocated with warmth. "She has to be okay," she continued, "Because I'm not ready to say goodbye." She put her head back down on his shoulder and thought about what might have happened had the bullet that grazed his arm been a few inches off its mark. "Not to anyone."