A/N: I don't own CSI of any kind – not that I like any but Vegas anyways. This is just something I dreamed up, probably influenced by the song 'Empty Walls'. No specific time period, but Sara's still here, and Greg is probably in the field.
Grissom had sat awake on his bed a long time before he could fall asleep. He hadn't admitted it, but the rumours of war disturbed him. He had been grateful to get home, where he didn't have to listen to his coworkers, subordinates, the lab techs, and even his bosses talk about going to join the war if indeed it did break out. Catherine had been the only one who had sympathized with him, because she didn't want to leave her daughter to go off to war.
When sleep finally did come, it was not restful. He found himself standing in the middle of an abandoned street. He recognized it as the street in front of his apartment building, but it was unusually empty. The colors were faded and the sky grey. As he began to walk forward, he heard a voice: it was his own.
"Do you like what you see so far?" his vision-voice asked bitterly.
"What happened?" Grissom responded, shocked.
His own voice answered nonchalantly, "the war, what else?"
"And me?"
The voice almost laughed, turning it into that nasty cough people get when they're attempting to cover up a laugh, but you know anyways. "You're in an old-folks home. You refused to go to war, and all the events just caught up with you. By the way, you're in the 'Mentally Unstable Wing'."
Grissom winced. "What happened to the lab?"
"Do you want to see it?"
Grissom hesitated before he nodded. The street faded, and he found himself standing beside a large, abandoned-looking building.
"It shut down," the voice told him, "because there was nothing they could do anymore. Anyone who died, they accused the war. Oh, and there's also the tiny fact that most of the staff joined the army. Except David Hodges. No, don't ask, I'll tell you what happened to him. He went into the designing of bombs and such with Bobby. Except, Bobby didn't have a new, experimental subject blow up in his face. He's alive, but most of his face is… mangled, let's say."
"And Bobby?"
"He's probably in the best condition of all… well, not quite. He's in protective custody, after designing a bomb that killed most of Japan."
Grissom swallowed. "What about Catherine and Lindsey?"
"Lindsey was kidnapped by foreign soldiers. Catherine spends her day's playing cards with you, Captain Jim Brass and Dr. Al Robbins, and worrying about everyone else."
"Nick?"
"Down to one word sentences already?" the voice mocked as the Crime Lab faded. The room Grissom found himself in was white. A constant beep…beep… filled the room. People bustled around outside, and a single doctor stood over the bed, writing on a paper, whom Grissom immediately recognized as David. It didn't take him long to realized he was in a hospital. Dread grasping his heart, Grissom stepped forward to see Nick.
The Texan was hooked up to several machines-for his pulse, breathing, and other things Grissom wasn't sure of. There were bandages around his head, stained lightly with dried blood. His cheeks were burnt, and when Grissom touched them, Nick whimpered, even though most people couldn't hear, see or feel him.
"Nicky" Grissom whispered in horror, "what happened to you?"
Unfortunately, it wasn't Nick who answered, but Grissom's vision-voice. "Grenade," it hissed. "He's lost an arm too, if you want to look."
Grissom shook his head, half tempted to tell the voice to go away. But it would take hours to convince it to come back, and he couldn't leave without its help. "Ok, what's Warrick doing?"
"Apt choice of words…"
The area they arrived in was dark, and for a moment Grissom thought they were lost. As his eyes adjusted, however, he could pick out the shapes of many soldiers crouching in the darkness. He picked his way among them until he reached the front, where it was lighter. There, it took him a moment to realize that the man he was standing beside was indeed Warrick.
"Warrick was promoted quickly," his annoying guide informed him. "So was Nick for that matter, but… anyways, Mr. Brown here is currently on a rescue mission, one he will fail in."
Just then, Warrick turned to motion the soldiers forward, and Grissom got a good look at the former CSI's face. His right eye was missing, and the entire right side of his face was a pile of scar tissue, the right corner of his mouth stuck in a permanent grimace. Grissom forced himself to look away, and turned back to watch as Warrick led the soldiers down the slope.
"The same grenade," the vision-voice told him, "that got Mr. Stokes. Actually, Nicky saved Rick's life."
Grissom ground his teeth at the voices mocking tone, and changed the subject abruptly. "Who are they trying to rescue?"
"Ah, another good question." The area faded, and the voice continued talking as the next scene formed around him. "He was always such a good shot, you know. Sure he didn't like to, but…"
Grissom cut him off. "Greg!" He knelt next to the little body on the floor of the dark, grimy cell. Greg was curled up in the fetal position. Cuts and bruises blossomed across his face and down his arms.
"Mr. Sanders was a sniper, an assassin if you will. He was caught, as you can clearly see, and tortured for information. He has not yet spoken. Warrick volunteered to run his rescue."
Grissom took a moment to let the new information sink in, and was dragged out of his stupor by the sound of guns. "I don't want to see this."
"Where do you want to be?"
He hesitated for a moment, then, "Sara, what happened to her?"
"Save the best for last did you?"
When the next area formed, he was back outside. There were several trees, and the sky was a little bit bluer than everywhere else. Gil recognized it with a stab of horror; the Las Vegas Cemetery.
"What did you think pushed you over the edge?" the voice laughed manically as Grissom forced himself to approach the large stone in front of him.
Here Lies Sara Vivian Sidle
Born September 16, 1971
Died November 26, 2011
Beloved wife of Gil Grissom
Will be missed by many Friends
And all her Family
Grissom swallowed hard and looked away. "Take me back," he instructed his vision-voice.
"Where?" it asked innocently.
"I want to go back to my time."
The voice sighed in resignation, "fine."
Gil woke up with a start, to find that his back hurt from sleeping sitting up. He ignored it, however, as stubborn old men are apt to do, and turned on the television.
"The government of Nevada has agreed to join to war raging…"
Grissom sighed – nothing he didn't already know. He turned off the T.V. and reached for his telephone.
Sara picked up on the third of fourth ring. Her voice was groggy and unfocused, so Grissom glanced at his alarm clock to check the time – around two forty-five in the morning.
"What is it, Grissom?" she mumbled.
"Pack your bags. Nevada will go to war, and we are not going to stick around to see it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just do it, please."
He repeated to instructions to many of his coworkers – Nick, Warrick, Catherine and Greg, for starters, before packing his own bags. Hopefully, everyone's things would fit in his vehicle. If not, maybe Nick would take his SUV or something.
As Gil pulled out of the parkade for his apartment building, he reflected that it didn't really matter. These were people he was determined to protect from a future they would hopefully never know. And he would make sure of it.