A/N At last, I'm back to update. I actually wanted to have this up sooner but FanFiction wasn't uploading for some reason. I apologise profusely for the delay - I'm fighting through some man trouble at the moment (and have a ton of tests coming up) so I'll update asap.
Thank you all for your reveiws - they mean the world to me x x
Chapter 3
Grissom took a deep breath as he put down his phone after calling the dispatcher. What were the chances of this happening to Nick and Catherine on the one night that PD was tapped out? The one night that he'd insisted they take a chance. Guilt began bubbling through his body. His more logical side was insistent that they could not have predicted the attack and that the evidence was priority. Another part of him could only hear Ecklie's words echoing in his head like a broken record: step up as a supervisor; things will go very wrong. The rest of him would have none of it. The one thing he'd learned from this job was the unpredictability of life: he should have known better than to risk his CSIs in the name of evidence. But wasn't that what they did everyday? Grissom pushed the issue from his mind, deciding to first attend to Catherine and Nick before jumping to conclusions.
He rolled down his car window upon spotting Greg and Warrick coming out of the lab, dressed for home.
"Hey guys!" he yelled to them, "You'd better get in the car. Something's happened to Nick and Catherine!"
The two hurried over, frowning, and climbed into the 4x4, Warrick in the passenger seat and Greg in the back. Grissom immediately started the engine and turned his head around to reverse from his parking spot.
"Griss? What's happened?" Warrick asked as Grissom put the Tahoe in drive and pulled out of the lot.
"I don't know exact details yet, but it had Brass panicking when he met them in the reserve," Grissom said vaguely. His phone rang suddenly and he pulled it from his belt and flipped it open while keeping one hand on the steering wheel.
"Brass? Talk to me."
"Thanks for the quick response. The EMTs got here pretty quick."
"Tell me what happened. Are Catherine and Nick alright?" Grissom said into the phone, his voice serious.
On the other end of the line, Brass sighed. "I caught our perp trying to abduct Catherine. He was stuffing her in the trunk of his truck when I arrived."
"Is she okay?" Grissom interrupted, frowning darkly.
"She was shot but her vest took it so she'll just be a bit bruised. She's still unconscious and a bit scratched up but she'll be fine. The EMTs are checking her now."
"And Nick?" Grissom's voice was grim, matching his expression and Warrick cast a look back at Greg that plainly said 'something bad's gone down'
"We can't find him Gil," Brass sighed. "The guy won't say a word and we can't exactly ask Cath."
"I'm on my way with Warrick and Greg. I'll be there as soon as I can," Grissom hung up and pressed his foot down on the accelerator.
"Griss?" Warrick asked.
"What happened?" Greg added.
"It appears the suspect returned to the scene. He shot Catherine in the vest and tried to kidnap her. They can't find Nick." Grissom explained, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Is she okay?" Warrick asked immediately, concern in his voice.
"She's unconscious. The medics are busy with her now."
"Christ," Greg's voice was soft, surprising the older CSIs. "Nick missing again…"
Grissom said nothing, but pushed his foot down harder, weaving through the early morning commuter traffic on the Strip. He pulled out his phone, glancing between it and the road and hit 3 on speed dial. Sara's phone rang a few times before going to voicemail.
"Sara, it's me. Catherine and Nick were attacked in the reserve. She's hurt and they can't find him so the guys and I are heading over there. Call me when you get this. I want you there as well." He wanted to add an apology for having to cancel their breakfast, or at least, to tell her how much he'd been looking forward to it but he held back: the team didn't know about their stolen breakfasts yet and this was not the right way for them to find out.
A long drive and a number of traffic offences later, Grissom found himself looking at the pale face of Catherine Willows as she lay prone on a stretcher, covered in emergency blankets and waiting to be loaded into the ambulance. Her skin was ashen, marked by a number of nasty scratches down her right cheek and dried leaves were caught in her hair. She was still unconscious and her peaceful expression seemed out of place amidst so much chaos.
An EMT came walking over then, with Warrick not far behind and Grissom turned to the young CSI. "Warrick, I want you to go to the hospital with Catherine. Keep me posted. I'll be there as soon as we find Nick."
Warrick nodded and turned to follow the medic, now loading the stretcher into a nearby ambulance.
Grissom returned to Brass, who was leaning against his car and frowning, obviously deep in thought.
"Sanders went out with the cadets to search for Nicky. The perp's been taken down to PD." He paused for a minute, and then looked over at Grissom's grim expression. "Isn't one of the gang missing? Where's Sara?"
Grissom frowned. That was a good question. Normally, he'd assume she'd possibly be sleeping, or out somewhere, but they'd had plans. Surely she'd have called to find out where he was, even if she didn't get his message.
"I left a message for her to call me."
"Maybe she didn't get it."
"That is possible, but unlikely," Grissom glanced at his watch. Shift had been finished for nearly two hours and, by now, he expected Sara to have called. What if she thinks I'm blowing her off? his mind suddenly wondered. After all he'd put her through, it was not unlikely. Panic rose in him and he pulled his cell phone out to double check that she'd not sent a message. He checked his beeper too, but found nothing.
"Either way," Brass continued, looking out at the trees, "You should probably try calling her again. She's got a sharp eye, that kid. Might do Nick some good or, at least, she'll be able to help Greg. He's been looking a little overwhelmed."
Grissom nodded in agreement and pressed 3 on his phone for the second time that night.
"Quick! We need a medic in here!" a voice shouted from the trees. A few seconds later, Greg and a cadet came hurtling out into the parking lot, the latter leading two EMTs back in while the other headed for Grissom and the captain.
"I found him!" he exclaimed, panting and leaning over to catch his breath. Grissom hung up his phone immediately and let loose a sigh of relief. His full attention went to Greg.
"Where? Is he okay?" As long as he's not in a glass coffin, Grissom's mind intoned.
"In a 10 foot deep pit. He's scratched up from the fall – there's a lot of roots there- and he's been shot. In the vest, like Cath." He added the last bit quickly, lest they panic.
"Thank God," Brass let out a sigh of relief.
"Do they need help getting him out?" Grissom asked, casting a glance at the trees.
"I tried, but the guys told me to clear off. We'd just be in the way," Greg said.
Grissom cast a glance at the young man, covered in leaves and dirt.
"How did you find him?"
"I started from the point where the body was originally found. Their kits were there so I figured he might be nearby. I followed disturbed leaves and footsteps where I could make them out. It wasn't all that hard, considering how many shell casings are on the ground. There was a huge pile of leaves – I thought someone might have fallen there- and that pointed straight to the pit."
Grissom nodded with approval, "Nice work Greg. Sara would be very proud of you."
"Where is she?" the younger man asked, straightening up. "She okay?"
"Why wouldn't she be?" Grissom frowned, as a familiar tension began to niggle in his gut.
Greg explained, "She ran out of our autopsy at the end of shift. Said she wasn't feeling well. I couldn't find her when I finished up with the doc so I assumed she'd spoken to you and gone home."
"Hmmm," Grissom felt a slow dread building up in him as a hundred possibilities of what could have happened to her began to run through his mind. None of them were pleasant. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled her number. After a few rings, the voicemail asked him to leave a message and he hung up. With building panic, he dialled her home number. That, he knew, she would always answer.
"Hi!"
"Sara-"
"- you've reached Sara. I'm not home- you know the drill." The machine beeped and Grissom growled in frustration.
"Sara! If you're home, pick up. I need to know that you're okay. Please pick up the phone."
No answer came.
"Sara. Please pick up. I heard from Greg that you-" His words were cut off by a second beep from the machine.
"Damn!" he swore.
"Not answering?" Greg raised a questioning eyebrow. Grissom nodded. "Well, maybe she's in the bathroom. Or sleeping. Our case hasn't exactly been clouds and roses so far."
Brass pushed himself off the car. "I'm going to head over to PD. If something happens, or you need anything, call me."
He'd obviously been feeling useless and so, needed to be doing something – anything – that seemed as if it would help Nick and Catherine. He was now planning to head back and give the man responsible hell.
x
Warrick gently ran his hand along Catherine's cheek, pushing a stray strand of strawberry hair out of her face. She frowned and blinked a few times, looking up at him quizzically as the fog in her mind faded with her return to consciousness.
"Warrick?" she asked softly, squinting.
"Hey," he replied gently, offering a sympathetic smile. "How you feeling?"
She took a moment to consider, and then replied, "Sore…Where's Nicky?"
He swallowed, unsure of what to say. He was saved, however, by a medic leaning over to examine Catherine, now that she was awake. When the man was done he moved away and took a seat on the opposite side of the ambulance.
"It's good to see you awake." Warrick returned his attention to Catherine, ignoring her previous question. You had us worried."
"It's just good to see you," she responded with a smile and wink.
Warrick smiled bashfully and slipped his hand under the blankets to squeeze her fingers. Her smile widened and she squeezed back
x
Grissom watched, as Nick was loaded into a second ambulance. The Texan was unconscious – and no doubt medicated – and covered in scratches.
"So off to Desert Palms?" Greg's voice asked from beside Grissom.
"Yeah," Grissom nodded. He frowned at his phone. There had still been no word from Sara and his worry was building. "Yeah. But we're going to make a stop on the way. Call Warrick and give him the heads up on Nick."
"What about the evidence?" Greg tilted his head towards the trees.
"I'll call Dayshift to get it," Grissom said firmly. "I'm putting my team first. Lets go."
Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of Sara's apartment building.
"There's her car," Greg pointed at the dark blue SUV. "She's gotta be here."
When they reached apartment 9, Greg hung back while Grissom stepped up to the front door and knocked.
"Sara?" he called. He waited a few moments, and then knocked again. Still no reply came. They could hear music playing inside, but no movement – no Sara. Grissom frowned and looked to Greg, who cocked his head to one side. He quickly sensed his boss's unease and bent to reach under the welcome mat. His hand closed around the cool metal of Sara's hidden spare key and he stood up, proudly handing it to Grissom.
"Gave Sara a lift home a couple months back. She'd left her key at the lab," Greg said with a shrug. Grissom said nothing, but the look in his eyes puzzled Greg. Was that suspicion coming from his boss? Greg shrugged off. He got plenty of strange looks from Grissom, few of which he understood.
Grissom unlocked the door, then paused to knock one final time. When no answer came, he pushed the door open and put his head inside.
"Sara?" he called, letting the door swing open. He took a step inside and scanned the room. It was empty, but showed obvious signs that Sara was – or had been – there. A glass mixing bowl stood on the counter, next to a CD player which was on and belting out something Grissom knew he should recognise, but didn't.
My, my, baby blue I been thinkin' bout you my, my, baby blueYeah you're so jaded
And I'm the one that jaded you
"Aerosmith," Greg said from behind him, nodding with approval. "Good stuff, great song; ironic, considering you're in here while it's on." He raised a meaningful eyebrow at his boss, which was quickly lowered by a stern frown from Grissom.
Sara's keys and cell phone were on the kitchen counter and a pair of high-heeled boots stood neatly beside the couch. Grissom took a step into the room and his eyes immediately fell on a group of photo frames arranged on the counter next to a fruit bowl containing a few apples. He let his eyes scan over them. One was a picture of Sara and a blonde whom he didn't recognise wearing academic robes and caps. It was obviously her graduation from Harvard for, at the bottom, embossed in gold were the words: "Valedictorian Sara Sidle and Monica Jones: Physics Honours Cum Laude". Grissom felt a strange wave of pride wash over him. That's my girl, he thought before suddenly catching himself and shaking his head. My girl?! He put the photograph down and turned away, feeling intrusive.
My my baby blue I been thinkin' bout you my my baby blueYeah I'm so jaded
And baby I'm afraid of you
Greg suddenly went over to the CD player and turned it down. He picked up the glass bowl, which had a wooden spoon resting in it, and sniffed the pale mixture inside.
"Mmm, pancake batter. Cranberry and almond if my nose doesn't deceive me," he said with a smile. "Seems fresh."
Grissom said nothing and nodded. Sara had been making pancakes for their breakfast. They'd been discussing trying something new and she'd promised to surprise him. He'd never expected for a moment that she'd do it, not because she was dishonourable, but because she held reputation for the second worst cook in the lab – beaten only by Hodges. Forensic Physics was her forte, not food. For a moment, his gut twisted with guilt at the though of how much effort she'd probably put into their failed meal. He turned away from Greg and headed for the bedroom.
He knocked and pressed his ear to the door, hoping for an answer.
"Sara?" he called to the empty apartment. He pushed the door open and peered inside. He'd never actually seen the inside of her bedroom before and allowed his eyes to drink in the dark mahogany furniture, white duvet and deep red waffle weave throw and taffeta cushions, Nice contrast, he thought. The room appeared empty and his eyes lingered on the sleigh bed, his identity as a man briefly overcoming the scientist in him. Sara's bed. The one place that she let her guard down totally, allowed herself to be vulnerable and oblivious to the world. He wondered if she'd had any male visitors to this room, but shook the thought off almost immediately, disgusted with the notion.
His gaze moved down from the bed to the carpet and his heart jumped. Poking out from behind the edge of the bed was a pair of white-sock-clad feet.
"Sara," Grissom surged into the room and swiftly skirted the bed to where she was on the floor. She lay on her side, still wearing her clothes from work, though she'd obviously removed her jersey, as it lay across the bed. He knelt beside her, eyes dashing over her body. Her hair, straight with a gentle curl at the bottom, covered half of her face and neck and her arms lay lifeless, one on the floor in front of her, the other awkwardly pinned behind her. In order to check her pulse, he grasped her free wrist, holding her limp hand in his. It was warm and he put a hand on her forehead. The temperature he felt there was way above normal: fever, no doubt.
"Sara!" he shook her gently, praying that she would wake.
"Honey, wake up," he repeated. But the woman in front of him remained unresponsive
He leaned over her and brushed her hair out of her face. It was then that he noticed a cut of about 2cm on her forehead, with a dark bruise developing around it. Grissom's eyes darted to the bedside table at her head. A small amount of blood on the edge confirmed his suspicions.
"You hit your head," he mumbled softly, gently running his finger around the edge of the bruise.
"Oh my God. Sara!" Greg's voice came from the doorway and he turned to see the young CSI frozen, eyes scanning the brunette in an obvious panic.
"Greg!" Grissom said firmly to catch his attention. "Call an ambulance. She's feverish and possibly has a concussion."
The young man managed to focus and nodded obediently, already pulling out his phone.
Grissom's eyes went straight back to Sara then. He pulled her into his lap and brushed the hair away from her neck to check her blood pressure. But as soon as his eyes fell on her exposed skin, his blood ran cold. At the base of her neck were two small white blisters. The skin around them was swollen and red. He immediately turned back to Greg, now talking on the phone.
"Greg!" he barked, "Hurry!" He pointed to the blisters "These are Brown Recluse spider bites!"
Greg's eyes widened and he nodded, turning and moving from the room as he shouted down the phone.
Grissom's attention went back to Sara and he put his arms around her, hugging her like a child would hold onto a teddy bear. Whether it was to comfort her or himself, he didn't know. Keep the bite elevated: above the heart, his logical side reminded him as he tried to remember everything he'd learnt about Brown Recluse spiders. One of four species of spider whose venom is lethal to humans. Bites are almost impossible to feel. Oh God, Sara. Spider only bites if it feels trapped or threatened. They commonly crawl into clothing, seeking a warm, dark place. Sara. Please be okay.
His eyes scanned her face, searching for life. She looked like a porcelain doll now: frail and perfect, with her cheeks flushed a deep pink and dark eyelashes splayed over smooth peachy skin. She frowned and let out an uneasy whine, twisting weakly in his arms before falling still and silent once more. He began to run his hand over her hair, hoping to offer some comfort. It was soft and warm and he wondered why he'd never touched it before, why he'd never held her like he was now. A sudden wave of renewed guilt washed over him, like a wave breaking on a forgotten sand castle and his strength crumbled beneath it. I forgot Marvin in the break room, he now realised. I left him right next to you. Not half a metre from you. This is my fault. Suddenly, Grissom began to wonder if –God help him- there had been some truth in Ecklie's words. He had been careless in forgetting Marvin in the break room when the case had swept him up and Sara had been hurt because of it. He'd pushed to get evidence and put it before Catherine and Nick's personal safety. He'd been so focused on the case…
And then realisation hit. He always put work first. His personal life had nigh vanished because he spent so much time focused on work – and anything close to a relationship that he'd had had started at the lab. It hadn't been a problem in the past. It was never a bad thing that he permanently had his nose down a microscope. He'd been…happy, hadn't he? He'd certainly not been hurt. But now Grissom saw it, as clear as daylight. He realised that withdrawing and focusing on facts could also hurt his team, badly. Then and there, he resolved to put more time into them, especially Sara who, he now realised, had been trying to draw him out for years.
But no resolution could unsettle the doubt that had descended on his mind. He'd always been so sure of his work. He'd never thought he was as totally useless as a supervisor as he now felt. Sure, he'd been different from the classic supervisor who watched his CSIs' every move, but his team had always succeeded, coming out stronger. The team trusted him unerringly. Is that a good thing, his mind asked him? You thought you knew what you were doing, but now they're hurt – and you're solely responsible. Grissom looked down at Sara, at the way her head rested lamely against his shoulder, chocolate hair falling down her back. You thought you were right, but you weren't, he said to himself. And the evidence is speaking loud and clear. And right there for the first time, Gil Grissom found himself, for the first time, in reasonable doubt.
A/N Those of you who read Collapse will know that I love using photographs in my stories. There was a very similar scene with pictures in Collapse and there probably will be in my next fic. I think that when you pick a photograph in a person's house, you unwittingly uncover a part of them because they've gone to the trouble to remember the specific happenings/people in the pictures. It so often shows what's really important to them.
"Jaded" was done by the absolutely brilliant Aerosmith so all credit for the song goes to them. I could never write music that good!
I've researched quite a lot about Brown Recluse spiders, so the info and descriptions should be accurate :)
Please drop a review – it'll guarantee a quick update!