Chapter 27

Greg stood in the shadow of the warehouse, keeping out of the way, as he watched Sofia and Detective Perez brief the SWAT leader. Nick was in the huddle along with the detectives. His hand was resting lightly on top of his holstered gun.

Even though he wasn't part of the team, he knew the drill. SWAT went first and then the detectives. If the EMT's were needed, they were on standby. And lastly, the CSIs, except Nick, who was qualified to help clear the building given the fact that he passed his proficiency test. Once the huddle broke, they all went their separate ways. Sofia and Perez to the back of the detectives car to gear up with bulletproof vests, radios and weapons, the SWAT leader headed to the SWAT truck, and Nick walked over to him standing by the wall, next to the empty pallets left behind the loading dock.

Nick's CSI field vest doubled as a tactical vest, theirs all did, as they held kevlar in the front and back. "You did good, Greg. Dogs hit on that structure," he pointed past the fence and across the wide empty lot lit up by light posts to the beige building. The 'For Lease' sign was still up in the window. "Don't let the sign fool you. It's been bought and they're inside right now. SWAT confirmed through thermal imaging before we arrived. It also smells."

Greg had smelt it in the air as well. Cooking meth produced a strong, powerful odor which smelled of ammonia and ether. "Smells of cat urine and rotten eggs."

Nick nodded. "Mobile crime lab is enroute. No one can go in unless they're wearing protective gear. The fumes can damage your internal organs—"

"I know," he said. "I've been through the training, Nick, just like you."

All the police personnel involved were part of a specialized unit tasked specifically for this type of investigation. The certification was very labor-intensive to be qualified to process meth labs. It involved the officer attending a 40-hour certification training class, as well as being provided and utilizing specific personal protective equipment. They also had to complete 24 hours of on-the-job training, including completion of 8 hours of refresher training each year to maintain the certification. During processing meth labs, they had to be able to provide a safe environment to remediate the bulk chemicals while providing the appropriate site safety, field testing, and sampling. It was no easy task.

"Yeah, well, there's a huge difference between training for something and actually doing it."

Their eyes met and he knew that Nick was only trying to help him. Years ago, before he was field qualified, he'd gone to the scene of a bus crash to help. The bus driver Nick had been interviewing in order to determine if he'd been drinking or not, started to bleed from the mouth. He froze up. Nick had to yell at him a few times to go get medical help. He froze up, just as he froze out in Montana with a gun to his head while Warrick bled on the ground.

Nick's hand was on his shoulder, getting his attention, saying, "You got this. You're to wait out here until you're called in to help process the scene. It's going to take a lot of time, patience, and a steady hand, Greg. One false move, one mistake, could blow us sky high. Meth labs are time bombs ready to go off."

He felt the sweat on his face and hands as he gave a nod. "I'm a chemist, remember?" That was one of the reasons he'd been chosen for the specialized unit in the first place.

Grissom had recommended him to it while he was still training to be in the field. His boss held so much confidence in him and his abilities as a field CSI that he never even doubted to assign him to the specialized unit the moment he'd passed, with his permission, of course. That thought was what finally shook him out of self-doubt. Grissom's belief in him to do the job, even when his hands shook.

Nick smiled as he let go of his shoulder as he moved away. Sofia was waving him over. "I know. C'mon, truck's here."

He watched as Nick, along with everyone else, headed to the mobile crime lab truck that pulled up. Inside housed everything they were going to need to process the building along with the protective gear. Going to the truck, he climbed inside and started preparing the equipment for sampling and testing. He handed the portable electrochemical sensor to Nick who would be the first on scene to detect the drugs while everyone else dealt with detainment of suspects and securing the scene.

The moment everyone left the truck, leaving him alone—except for the driver—he finally let out a breath as he felt his hands shake. It wasn't due to fear of his job. He could process the scene. That wasn't the issue. It was the uncertainty of whether or not they would all come back. The uncertainty of a suspect getting away, running right towards him, and not being able to do anything about it. The fear of the unknown and all the possibilities that were completely out of his control was what caused his hands to shake.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in as he turned his radio on and listened to the SWAT team, along with Nick and the detectives, breach the building.

There was a lot of silence between the chatter. The chatter was what he expected, a lot of commands given and relaying of positions. The tension in his chest building as he listened and waited. The last thing anyone wanted to do was shoot their gun inside a meth lab. A spark could light the place up or a stray bullet could—

Sofias's voice boomed through the silence as she yelled, "Suspect on the run! Suspect on the run!

Greg stood, hand going to his hip only to meet empty air. He felt the immediate sting of stupidity and failure before he shook himself out of it as he opened the door. Peeking his head out, he saw someone running across the open lot, under the lights, as Detective Curtis gave chase.

There was an opening in the fence a few feet away. Greg called back to the driver of the mobile lab truck, "Hey! There's an opening in the fence back here! Can you block it off?"

The driver was another night shift supervisor, Joe Boyd. His brown eyes caught him in the rearview mirror while shifting the truck into reverse. Greg shut the door and locked it as Boyd positioned the truck in front of the opening, blocking it. He clambered to the front of the vehicle and looked through the driver's side window as the fleeing suspect changed course. It was a woman. Her clothes were old, stained and tattered due to chemical burns.

She jumped onto the chain link fence and started climbing. Boyd couldn't get out of the driver's door due to the proximity to the fence. Shoving him aside, he headed to the passenger door as he slid across the seat.

Sofia had her gun out and yelling commands. Boyd got out of the truck, his gun out and pointed at the woman. She was clinging to the fence, surrounded. Her eyes wide in fear and panic. Greg watched through the window as her eyes darted between the two. Sofia kept giving commands while Joe held steady with his aim, neither one wanting to shoot the woman. They just wanted her to comply, to get down off the fence.

He heard his voice pleading with her as he whispered, "Please comply. Please, please, please," as if the woman could hear him.

Even though the woman didn't have a weapon in her hand didn't mean she might not have a weapon on her. Under her shirt, or in her pants, she could have a gun or a knife. She could also have needles. Given her position above Sofia, she could also try to jump on top of her. If she knocked Sofia down, she could possibly get her gun. Until she was in custody, the woman was a threat.

Perez's voice broke through the chaos of the scene in front of him. "Scene's secure. CSI is requested."

He was needed elsewhere but he couldn't take his eyes off the woman clinging to the fence like a scared feral cat. The panic waned as her fear diminished. She knew she had no other choice but to give up. Give up or die. The woman's shoulders sagged before she dropped to the ground where Sofia ordered her to the ground. Once the woman was apprehended, he saw Boyd finally holster his gun before rounding the vehicle.

Calling out to him, Boyd said, "Get a move on, Sanders," as he pounded the side of the vehicle. "We have a scene to process. Unlock the damn door!" Boyd, like Grissom, never left room for debate. When he told you to jump, you jumped.

He pushed the tension down as swallowed the lump in his throat down, wiped the sweat from his face, and then went to unlock the backdoor.

They didn't leave the police department as they waited to see if Detective Nowlins was going to talk or not. He was being held in a secure room along with a union rep who'd arrived a few hours ago. So far, he hasn't been cooperative. Kevin was pacing the hallway while on the phone. There had been a lot of phone calls. From judges to senior FBI agents to the lab. A search of the detective's house was underway. Warrick had been assigned the task along with a few other night shift CSI's from Joe Boyd's team. Gil remained at the lab and that was who Kevin was currently speaking to now, except Kevin told her that Gil, the man she knew him to be, was different.

She heard that difference for herself when she'd checked her voicemail. Gil's tone and the words. His repressed anger and fear. She heard the change in the man she loved. Will was more emotional than Gil, and it came out almost in waves. A harsh surge of emotion that burst out like a tidal wave crashing on the beach until it ebbed back inside of him only to build back up, growing stronger, and bigger, until…She didn't know what, but he'd told her. Will Graham drowned those he loved. He was like a tsunami. He flooded the world around him with his rage, damaging everyone and everything in his path.

He told her that she wouldn't be able to love him; he wouldn't let her. And he chose to be that man. For some reason, Gil chose to let the parts of himself that were Will Graham to take over. All the things that made him Gil were gone. There were similarities, of course, but those were just minimal familiarities compared to the differences. The unease she heard in Kevin's voice while speaking to him was evidence enough of the distrust that he held for the man he was speaking to.

Gil had told her that she'd never seen him the way Kevin had seen him. She remembered when she first found out that Kevin was his son. They had been in Gil's townhouse, and he'd barged out of the house to take out the trash, which included pork that he'd bought despite no longer eating it. Gil had forgotten who he was. Forgotten his own eating habits and preferences. His appetite had become that of another person, a serial killer. Hannibal Lecter.

As Gil retreated to his bedroom, Kevin had grabbed her, pulled her aside, and had warned her. Warned her of his anger, his drinking, and if he changed…If he changed to let him know. This had been Kevin's fear all along. That Gil Grissom would cease to exist. Kevin feared Will Graham. He feared Will's mind, his silence, but mostly his anger.

Kevin got off the phone, released a deep breath, and then walked back into the breakroom. He poured himself a cup of coffee. "Want one?" he asked.

She held up the cup already in her hand with a tea string hanging over the side. "I'm not much of a coffee drinker anymore. Green tea's all the caffeine motivator I need to keep going." Kevin took a sip of the coffee and winced as if in pain. "That, and the PD's coffee sucks."

Kevin dumped the coffee in the sink and tossed the paper cup in the trash. "Could've warned me."

She shrugged. "Live and learn." He wasn't smiling, and neither was she. "You don't trust him."

He didn't meet her eyes as he said, "He told me I could." Shaking his head, he continued, "I want to, but…it's hard. All I keep thinking about is how he was when I was a kid. I saw him change right in front of me. The dad I knew left with Jack Crawford…and when he came back…" He shook his head as tears stung his eyes. "That man was gone. My dad was no longer inside that man. I don't think he actually ever came back."

She finished her tea and tossed the cup. "Kevin, there's nothing I can say to you to make you understand this, but I can tell you that no matter what, he is your dad. He loves you—"

"I know that. It's just—"

"He told me that it's okay for someone to change you. We all change. Over time, we're all different. No one stays the same. I think he was trying to tell me that being Grissom also changed him."

"What are you sayin'?" he asked as he leaned on the counter, crossing his arms over her chest. "Should I trust him? I am. It's not a blind, youthful trust of ignorance, but I'm trusting him. Doesn't mean I don't keep a watchful eye out."

"What I'm saying is," she stepped up to him, forcing him to meet her eyes. Once he did, she told him, "He changed himself, remember? Over the last decade and a half, he's been Grissom. He taught himself how he can control his emotions, his thoughts, by being…Grissom. That's why I'm not going to be afraid of him as Will, no matter what he thinks. The residual effects of being Gil will rub off on him. All those instincts he's developed over the years will kick in, and Will Graham will be someone you can trust, because you can trust Gil Grissom."

Kevin blinked back the tears as he nodded. "I think you might be right."

"I know I am. He has to find a middle ground, and I think the only way for him to do that, and why he decided to let this part of himself out, is so he can know for certain that he has no more reason to fear who he once was. He has to understand that he can trust himself completely now. He's been blocking a lot of himself off, pushing parts of himself down, denying who he is for so long that…yeah, at first it was terrifying. He was scared. The pain of who he was lives inside of him every day, but he also has so many years under his belt as Grissom that controlling himself should be a lot easier than it was before."

The pain of her own past also lived inside of her every day. She too has also changed. The most she learned and accepted her past, her reasons and choices in life, the more she grew. Accepting and dealing with all that pain was what made a person stronger. She felt stronger now than she had even a week ago. She could face this, face herself and her family, her brother, and even Will Graham. She could help Kevin face his cancer battle if it came down to that.

She was stronger than she ever gave herself credit for. She didn't have to run away. She didn't have to leave to find herself. No matter where she went, she followed. She couldn't outrun her shadow. At least here in Las Vegas, she had people. A support system to help her when she faltered. Out there, on her own, she had no one. Gil was willing to quit his job to be with her so she wouldn't be alone.

Kevin pulled her into a hug as she felt the tears on her face. Neither one of them said anything as they were both lost inside their minds, dealing with so much uncertainty, and it felt nice to know that they both had someone they could lean on. They were family.

"After we get done here," Kevin said into her ear. "Jell-O shots."

She laughed into his shoulder as she hugged him tighter. "You have a basketball game."

"After the game."

"I don't do Jell-O shots anymore."

"A beer?"

"Dinner. Double date. Gil's buying."

Kevin chuckled as he said, "You'll never get him to agree to any of that."

"Fine. Your house. Grilled steaks and tofu. B.Y.O.B.."

"You're on."

She let him go as she backed away and rubbed her face. He was smiling. "I don't care if Bill's ready to cooperate or not. I want to talk to him."

Kevin gave a nod as he pushed off the counter. "You sure?"

She took a breath and said, "Let's do it."

She was led to a windowless door at the end of a hallway. When Deputy Weston opened it, she spotted Nowlins sitting on top of a table, the only piece of furniture in the room. There weren't even chairs. He was resting with his back against the wall, suit jacket folded up at one end of the table and his tie was undone. It'd been hours and he looked exhausted. They all were.

Kevin turned to her and asked, "I'll be right outside."

The door was shut behind her, leaving the two of them in the room. Bill shifted on the table, rubbing his back against the wall, as he said, "I've got nothing to say."

"You know I'm no longer on the job."

"You wired?"

She shook her head. "All I care about is my brother and Ellie. We need to find them, Bill. You know something. Whatever you say to me is between us." He didn't look at her as he kept his eyes on the wall in front of him. Stepping over a few feet, she got between his eyes and the wall. "Bill, you're a good cop—"

He huffed out a bitter laugh as he looked around the windowless room. "Was."

"Still can be, if you help us find my brother in time." She could almost see his resolve breaking. His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes and took a breath. "You met him?"

He gave a nod as he peered over at her. They weren't the eyes of someone enjoying this, he wasn't a bad guy, in fact he was full of regret and pain. "Why'd you do it?"

Bill grabbed his suit jacket and reached into a pocket and pulled something out and held them in his hand. "Did you know that card games were considered the Devil's game? The Catholic church deemed all playing cards evil because it took away time from the church, and prayer. Back before card games became a form of entertainment and a source of money making in casinos, they were only used in magic and fortune telling. Each card represents something mystical. Las Sombras means 'The Shadows' in Spanish. That's how the gang operates, in the shadows. They communicate through use of Spanish playing cards. Instead of hearts, clubs, diamonds, and spades, the cards the Spanish use have gold coins representing nobility and upper class, cups for the church and clergy, swords for army and knights, and clubs for farmers and servants." He held out what he had in his hand for her to take.

Stepping forward, she took the items and saw they were two cards, both swords. Written on each card was a name.

"Ace of Spades is known as the 'death card', it's the same in the Spanish deck, except the death card is the Swords. The names written on them…" She saw the tears that filled his eyes as he told her, "Those are my boys."

"You were coerced? Why didn't you say anything—"

"Because they'll kill them. That's why. This isn't done yet."

Sara eyed the two playing cards as she said, "Tell me how you met Nathan."

Bill let out a breath as he stared back up at the ceiling. "At first, when I received those cards in my mailbox, they only wanted one thing: five names. Names that matched a particular physical description."

"Brown hair, eyes, and a diastema. The victims." Bill also said five. There were four victims. That meant one more girl was out there on the killer's list.

Bill swallowed hard as he gave a nod. "I didn't know why until they all started showing up dead. That's how I knew what it was before anyone else. I feared the worst. That's why I went to the sheriff, Kevin, and called up Grissom. I wanted the killings to stop, but…I couldn't say anything. I feared for my boys' lives. They're being watched. That's how they do it. They stay hidden and they watch. My boys are in college, out on their own…Las Sombras have eyes on them right now, and if the police show up…"

"Bill." She got him to look at her before asking, "Nathan?"

"I received another package in the mail. This one contained a wallet with instructions to return it to the owner. That took me to Nathan Cole's apartment. I tried to talk to him. I wanted to figure out what was going on, why him…me. I got nothing. So, I left. Then a phone call, telling me to be at City View Park—"

"You were the one in the car," she said as she put it all together. "You stopped and talked to Nathan after he killed the couple in the car."

"I'm sure that wasn't part of the plan. I think I was only sent there to discover Brandi Powers body. Nathan took off down the street before I could do anything. I followed in my car until the call came over the radio from the patrol car. I took it so I could be the first detective on the scene. Then I called Grissom. I knew he would figure it out. Sara, you have to believe me, I had no idea—"

"Why the gun? You stole an AK-47 from evidence."

The tears finally spilled from his eyes as he let out a breath. "I was told that was the last thing. I do that…and my boys would be safe. I thought…The AK was involved in the turf war and Las Sombras just wanted me to get rid of the evidence for them. That's what I thought it all was. A debt I owed. They found out that I was the police and decided to use me by threatening my sons. Once the debt was paid…"

"Bill, you said five names. There's only four victims."

He fought back the tears as he worked to regain control. Wiping his face, he told her, "Bargaining chip."

"She could die before you're ever able to make that play. We can save her, and your sons. This isn't Las Sombras, Bill."

"How'd you know?"

"Because both Gil and Kevin completed their profiles. This is the work of a serial killer from Grissom's past. The brother of Francis Dolarhyde. He used you, just like he's using Nathan. He's a magician, not a gang member."

Bill's pain turned to anger as he shook his head. "I was so certain. I was sent the cards—"

"Like you said, they were once used by magicians and fortune tellers. Our killer's both. He knew your past with the gang…Bill, you can make this right. Tell all this to Kevin. Give him the name of the fifth girl before she dies."

"I can do better," he said. "He had me take the rifle to a location. I thought I was meeting someone from Las Sombras. No one was there, but I left the gun where he told me and left."

"Where?"

"Have you ever hiked the railroad trail, out by Hoover Dam? Old railroad bed that they used to haul up the materials used to build the dam. The boneyard. Looks like a scene out of Star Wars. Old, rusted metal pieces piled around a desert lot, surround by a rusty fence. I left the rifle there. A hole had already been dug by the storage container."

"The name of the girl?"

Bill shook his head. "I'll only tell that to Kevin."

Sara regarded him a moment before going to the door and tapping on it.

"You swear my boys are safe?"

She had no idea. All she knew was that the person behind all this wasn't with the Las Sombras gang. "I hope so."

Kevin opened the door for her to leave. Once in the hallway, she told him everything Bill Nowlins told her. "He didn't give her name?"

"He only said he'll tell you. Says it's a bargaining chip."

"Probably wants immunity."

"He thought Las Sombras was going to kill his sons."

"He should've—"

"He was afraid. And desperate. He also made sure that the information got to you and Gil as quickly as possible. He was trying to stop it."

Kevin's jaw was tense. "If he wanted to stop it, he should have told me from the start."

She thought about all the victims, all the lives shattered, and couldn't argue with that. "You go in there with that attitude, and he won't talk."

"You think he'll let her die?"

"I don't know, but if he thinks he has no shot at a deal…he might think 'what's one more victim?'"

Kevin knew she was right. "Guess I'll get him that lawyer now, since I'm making deals." He headed off down the hall as she pulled out her cell phone.

"I'll call Gil; let him know."

Kevin gave her a wave over his shoulder as he kept walking.

It'd been a long night, but by daybreak Bill had given him the name of the fifth girl. Jennifer Douglas. Oddly enough, Sofia had arrested her earlier in the evening fleeing the meth lab she'd busted along with Detective Perez. They'd agreed to keep her in protective custody while in jail waiting for her arraignment.

As of now, Kevin was off work and that meant one thing: basketball.

His legs were on fire as he raced up and down the indoor basketball court. Sneakers squeaking over the hardwood floor and echoing off the walls as caught a pass from Nick. He took it to the rim, shoving by a CSI named Jeremiah to toss the ball up for a layup. Jeremiah collected the ball, took it out of bounds and tossed it to a deputy named Devante who jogged down the court with Warrick stalking after the ball.

Warrick, even when playing basketball, strolled. The guy hardly broke a sweat, even when stealing the ball from Devante. He took four long strides, pulled up short of the three-point line, and casually took his shot. Nothing but net.

He took a deep breath as he walked over and grabbed the ball off the floor. They've been at it for almost an hour; he needed a break. His leg was hurting, throbbing, as he bent over and rubbed his calf.

"Time," Nick shouted out as he jogged over. "Let's take a break." Bending down, he asked, "Cramp?"

Kevin wished it was a cramp. He knew the swelling and aching had nothing to do with dehydration. He nodded anyway as he handed him the ball as he started for his bag that he'd deposited along the wall. Inside was a sports drink, protein bars, and a water bottle. He took a bite of the protein bar and chugged some of the drink before reaching down to grab his cell phone.

"No work calls at the gym," Nick said beside him. "Those are the rules."

"This isn't a work call," he shot back as he dialed Sofia's number. After a couple rings, she answered. Upon hearing her voice, he hesitated in saying anything work related. He knew why he wanted to call her. "Hey, uh…You have plans for tonight?"

"No. Are you asking me out?"

He glanced at Nick who quickly took his bottle and moved away, giving him some privacy. "I'm inviting you. My dad and Sara are coming over for grilled steaks. Sara's bringing tofu. You're more than welcome to join us. It's, uh, B.Y.O.B., but you don't have to bring anything."

"Sounds like fun. Let me know what time and I'll be there with bells on."

"Please tell me you mean that literally. I'd love to see my dad's reaction."

She laughed and he smiled. "Can't make any promises."

He didn't know how to hang up. There was more he wanted to say and what came out was, "Key's on hook, under the top step at the backdoor. Make yourself at home and I'll be there once this game's over, with breakfast."

She didn't say anything. He wondered if he'd assumed wrong. Then she said, "Don't be too long," before hanging up.

With the way his leg was hurting him, it wouldn't be. He caught the knowing smile on Nick's face as he tossed the phone back into his gym bag.

"You know, Warrick mentioned—"

"Warrick's about to get a fat lip if he keeps mentioning anything," he said as he grabbed the ball out of Nick's hands.

"I heard that," Warrick said from the wall he was leaning against, stretching his tall legs. "We got this game in the bag. What'd you say we switch it up. Go head-to-head, then we'll see who walks away with a fat lip."

Kevin tossed the ball to Devante and said, "Me, you, and Jeremiah against Nick, Warrick, and Ben."

Ben, the day shift M.E. who had the day off, held up his hands and said, "Fine by me. 'Bout time I'm on the winning team."

"We'll see about that," Jeremiah called out as he took the ball out. "I think Kev's going to give Warrick a run for his money."

"Don't call me Kev," he told him, shooting him a glare.

Jeremiah passed the ball to him. Catching it, he dribbled down the court, between his legs, and pushed by Warrick. As Warrick stepped back, nearly tripping over himself as he held out his hands to block him, he suddenly stopped, dropped back, pulled up and then sank the ball through the hoop.

Warrick eyed him as he ran backwards down the court. "Can't be taking a stroll when you play against me, I'll make you trip."

Before he ever touched the gun, Grissom asked him questions like what the four rules of gun safety were. Greg tried not to sound too annoyed when he answered, "I've done this before."

"I don't care if you've done this every day since you could walk." That was it, no demanding answers, just a dismissal of what he'd said. He didn't care. "'Treat', 'Never', 'Keep' and 'Keep'. What do they mean?"

Greg felt the nervousness in his chest and hands. His heart was pounding. "Treat every weapon as if it were loaded. Never point the weapon at anything you don't intend to shoot. Keep your finger straight and off the trigger until ready to fire. Keep the safety on until ready to shoot."

"Anything else?"

He almost shook his head but stopped himself as he remembered other safety instructions. "Never point the gun at myself or anyone else. If it jams, keep it pointed downrange, wait five seconds, and if nothing happens, clear it."

Grissom finally sat the gun and magazines on the ledge in front of him. Downrange, at ten yards, was a target. "Inspect and load the gun," he said before reaching up to put his ear protection on. Then he stepped over to where he had his gun on a ledge.

His hands were shaking slightly as he took the gun in hand, felt the weight, and picked up a magazine. He almost dropped it before he got it inserted. He released the slide, chambering a round. If he released the magazine, the gun would still have a bullet in the chamber. Until that bullet was fired, the gun wasn't empty. He didn't know why he had that thought, only that he'd seen a movie once where that happened.

A movie star pretending to be a cop held a gun out, had racked the slide back, chambering a bullet. The movie star bad guy somehow, through martial arts, got his hand on the magazine release button. The magazine full of bullets dropped to the floor and the cop acted like he couldn't shoot the bad guy. He hit him with the gun, or something stupid. There was a bullet in the chamber, all he had to do was squeeze the trigger and the bad guy would've been killed.

"Something on your mind, Greg?"

"Just the stupidity of Hollywood movies."

"You meant the fact that a cop always racks the slide back? If he'd loaded the gun properly the first time, there would be no reason. Or, they rack the slide, never shoot it, and rack again. That would have ejected the first bullet that would've been in the chamber. I watched a cowboy in an old western load a six-shooter before firing off infinity amounts of ammo and never having to reload. Now, I call that 'movie magic'."

He smiled as he saw the amusement on Grissom's face. "You should make finding inconsistencies in movies a drinking game."

"I'd never get anything else done. I would be drunk all the time. I'm never going back."

He immediately regretted saying anything about drinking as he holstered the gun and the remaining magazines into the gun belt. It felt heavy around his waist, but at the same time good. He liked the weight. It felt safe. It made him feel safer, stronger, and less weak. Despite that, his hands shook. He took a deep breath and waited for Grissom to give him further instructions.

Instead, Grissom told him, "I was younger than you when I shot a gun in the line of duty for the first time. It was in Minnesota, while I was helping the FBI track down a serial killer. Garrett Jacob Hobbs. I've been through the training, passed all the tests, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. The adrenaline, the fear, and all the…blood. I had blood on my hands from touching his wife's neck. She was bleeding out from a cut to her throat. My hands were sticky and wet, and they shook, Greg. They shook the whole time up until the point I shot him and after. The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, causing him to drop the knife that he'd used to kill his wife and was going to use to kill his daughter. The second bullet hit the cabinet behind him. I emptied my gun. All fifteen rounds, only ten hit him. The other five…The floor, the cabinets, and one through the window over the sink, that shattered a flowerpot on the porch, before embedding itself into my car. I'm lucky no one was walking by at the time. That's why it's important to know what's behind your target. You don't want a stray bullet to catch an innocent bystander."

Greg watched as Grissom pulled his gun, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

He jumped at the sound and watched as it hit center mass on the target that was twenty-five yards away. Grissom kept shooting. It was perfect technique, posture and steady hands as every bullet hit center mass. He released a magazine as the slide locked in place after the last round was fired. He grabbed another magazine, inserted it, hit the slide stop release, and kept shooting until the final magazine hit the floor as the shooting stopped. Grissom placed the gun on the ledge and hit the switch on the wall, indicating the shooting in Lane 1 was done as the target closed in. Greg saw that there was nothing but a big hole in the middle of the target.

"You should be in competitions."

Grissom didn't even crack a smile as he told him, "That's for people who think of this as a fun sport. For me, I do it out of necessity, not for sport."

"I didn't mean anything—"

"I didn't take offence, Greg." He regarded him a moment before saying, "It's a big responsibility. You're only human, and it's a natural thing to be afraid. This is a deadly weapon. The risk of shooting someone greatly increases when you have access to a gun. You're more likely to use it. But, muscle memory and practice, and going over the safety rules every time you pick one up…It helps to prevent an accident. My hands are steady now, but at first, they shook. They shook for a long time after Hobbs. The first time I stepped back onto a firing range after shooting him, I saw him."

"Like…saw him?"

Another nod. "He was the target. I freaked out and pulled my gun and fired. My hands shook so bad I shot out the lights. I missed my target every time. If I let myself, the fear will get to be too much and my hands will shake, even now."

"How do you get it to stop?"

"I trained myself to shoot even with a shaky hand. I tell myself that this target isn't a person. It's paper. It can't die. I can't kill it. It helps ease the fear and I'm able to practice with steady hands so that when it comes time to pull my gun out there, on a human being…muscle memory kicks in. My aim is true. The more you practice, the more confident you'll become as you train your hands what to do, even if they shake. Even when the fear sets in, and you get in your head, instinct takes over. There are three things you need to be able to rely on: muscle memory, instinct, and hand-eye coordination. You master all three, you'll be fine."

Greg realized that Grissom wasn't as impenetrable as he'd once thought. He always viewed him that way, like nothing could shake him. Grissom was anything but weak. He was always strong and confident, but that hadn't always been the case, and probably still wasn't. What made him the way he was now was all the lessons learned, the therapy, and practice he put into keeping himself steady. If Grissom could teach himself to shoot with steady hands, then so could he. It would take time, and training, but he could do it.

"I heard about what happened last night at the meth lab."

Greg ducked away as he felt the heat of embarrassment on his face. "Nothing happened." Grissom wasn't buying it as he continued to wait patiently for him to fold. "A suspect was able to slip away. Sofia was able to arrest her—"

"I heard it was your quick thinking that made that happen."

He was surprised as he said, "I didn't do anything."

Grissom wrinkled his head in confusion as he said, "That's not what Joe Boyd told me. He said that you realized that you could use the truck to block the exit. It forced her to try to scale the fence, which bought time for Detective Curtis to catch up to her and make the arrest."

"Yeah, but…I wasn't able to help. I had to stay in the truck. I couldn't help Nick clear the building and detect the drugs. I couldn't back up Boyd of Sofia—"

"You did what you could—"

"I could've done more—"

Grissom let out a breath as he shook his head. "Sometimes, you have to be okay with what you have to work with. As long as you do what you can, that's enough—"

"And what if she attacked Sofia, got her gun, shot Boyd and then I'm the only one left with no way to stop her and she shoots me too?"

"I'm glad you're thinking through all the hypotheticals; it'll prepare you to consider the possible outcomes of other people's actions and your own. But that's not what happened. There's a time to think about all that, and a time to it all go. In here, let it go, Greg. Shut your brain down except for what you need to know to fire this gun at that target. We'll practice every day if that's what it takes."

He gave a nod as he faced the target. It was only ten yards away, but it appeared much further away. It blurred in his vision.

"Whenever you're ready, Greg," Grissom said as he stood behind him.

With Grissom's air of confidence, he pulled the gun, punched out with his right arm as he wrapped his left hand around his right. His arms doing a push-pull as he dropped his left elbow and took aim. He let out a breath as the barrel weaved and circled the blurry target in front of him. When he was ready, he released the safety, slid his finger down to the trigger, and squeezed.

Bang!

His chest jumped as it surprised him, but he saw that he'd hit the target. It was above the center mass area marked in grey, but it was a good shot. He fired again, and again, until he'd shot off all the rounds in the magazine. He released it and it fell to the floor as he grabbed another full mag out of the belt pouch and inserted it into the gun. He released the slide, chambered a round, and fired again.

TBC…