DISCLAIMER: I do not own CSI, any of its plots, its characters, or anything else already copyrighted by Mr. Zuiker. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction...I'd be writing the episodes.

Warnings: none

Author's Note: Second installment, be sure to review! I'd really appreciate it along with any ideas you may have for where the fic should go. Enjoy!

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The Interrogation Room - 5 Hours Earlier

"So, Mr. Long, you like killing women?" Brass sneered, draging out his question as he stood in one corner. Grissom sat in front of the man, and Greg stood in the corner behind the suspect.

"No, I've done no such thing."

"Liar. We know you did it."

"We have your blood mixed with each victim's, Mr. Long." Grissom took control of the wording and shifted in his chair, wishing the interrogation would end soon; Sara was already waiting. "We also have proven your alibies to be false. We found the vise used to make your unique weapon in your garage, and the blood on the one set of clothing was a mix of your's and the five victims. We know you killed them, Mr. Long." At each piece of evidence, Martin Long's face darkened, teeth clenching in rage.

"You're going to jail for life...if you're lucky." It was Greg's first time in an interrogation, and this was his first mistake. Lunging back at Greg, the suspect kicked him in the gut, sending him down. Brass pulled the guy off Greg, but his punches were flying, and beat him over the head a few times, sending Brass confused onto his knees. Nick was already out the door of the viewing room calling for cops, but it was too late for Grissom. Taking the gun from Grissom's hands, he began brutally beating the Graveyard Shift Supervisor, blood beginning to spatter against the wall. As Nick went in with three cops behind him, three shots rang out in the air, and Grissom ceased moving in a pool of his own blood.

Desert Palms Hospital - Present

"Mrs. Grissom?" Sara looked up from her reverie, a doctor in scrubs and a white coat at the cracked door. She nodded and he motioned for her to come outside the room. Checking to make sure the door was closed all the way, the older man began to speak. "I'm Dr. James Merridew, I was the chief surgeon for your husband's surgery and will be his doctor during his time here with us. Mrs. Grissom, your husband has suffered extreme trauma to the brain and immense internal bleeding occured in surgery, but we were able to stop it. The bullets entered, luckily, two in his right shoulder and chest. We were able to retrieve all three of them without major damage to the body. The part that took the longest was his brain. He's in a coma. There were pieces of fractured skull everywhere and a few brain cells died. It was in the area that holds memories. It could be anything from not remembering who he is to cases from a few years ago. We're hoping it's not too serious, but we won't know for sure until he wakes up. The trauma was...hard to believe it was only on the account of flying fists. I'm sure you can tell. I'm deeply sorry for you to see your husband like this, but he's much better than when he arrived. If we have any new information, we'll let you know."

She furrowed her eyebrows, breath quickening. Coma? Memory loss? Trauma? Internal bleeding? "Wait, you'll let me know? Are you implying that I should be leaving?" The doctor sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"We don't think he'll wake up for a while. I'm sorry to say but, your husband has a low percentage of even waking up at all. As of 8:00 p.m. tomorrow evening, we will begin enforcing the hospital visiting rules. Please take it easy, Mrs. Grissom, for the baby's sake." Her eyes widened, not at the percentage. She was horrified of the percentage, but was surprised at the mention of a baby, her baby.

"Ho-how do you know?"

"Four months? You're starting to show. We'll do our best for your husband." And at that Dr. Merridew walked off, leaving Sara on the brink of tears. Silently walking back into the room, she took one look at Grissom and began to cry, sobbing as she just slid down the back of the door. In an instant, Nick was kneeling next to her, hugging her in an attempt to comfort.

"He - he might not even wake up! Nick, he might not even wake up!" She sobbed, crying into his shoulder as Greg sat in the corner still, head in his hands, silently crying.

"It's all my fault," he whispered to himself. "All my fault."