Author's Notes: I don't own 'em. I just screw with 'em. This started out as a one shot, but I'm thinking of expanding it. Total AU. Enjoy.

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GRISSOM

The city is on fire.

It's not a pretty metaphor. The Strip is decimated, and you wonder when the hell that happened, who decided to toss the match. You wonder if it was an accident or if it was some poor gambler's way of getting back at Lady Luck in the chaos that would let him get away with it.

Some small voice in the back of your head questions whether or Warrick had something to do with it. You don't bet on it. You don't even know if Warrick is alive. Or Nick. Or Greg.

You hope that Catherine hadn't been foolhardy enough to seek refuge with her father.

...You don't bet on it. She would have taken Lindsey and gotten the hell out of Dodge while there was still time.

You're not as smart as she is, and anyway, you have nowhere else to go. Your mother has been dead for two years now, and you have no other family. The makeshift family that the lab built around you is scattered, and cell phones aren't working. Land lines have been out for hours. The power is out, too, and if it weren't for the buildings crackling away merrily in the distance you wouldn't be able to see your away around the parking lot. You think that the night sky would be beautiful for once, with its electric rivals dead, but the fire that's lighting your way is producing a lot of smoke, and you pick your way around the wreckage of crashed cars, coughing.

The lab doors, as you approach them, are miraculously unbroken. As you move closer you can see that this wasn't from lack of trying. Whoever is stretched across the concrete walkway tried like hell to break those doors down, and you stoop over the prone form.

Her hands are bloodied and bruised; the skin torn as she fought off whatever had attacked her. There's blood on the ground, quite a bit of it, but you ignore it and lean in to rest your first two fingers on her pulse point. Her heart is beating, faint, but it's there, and you give a relieved sigh. Her eyes flutter open, and she tries pathetically to drag herself away; it's a last ditch effort made by her body to fight or flight. Rich brown meets your own blue and her eyes focus; she recognizes you.

"Grissom." The word makes it out of her throat but it's obscured by bubbles of blood. Her breath rattles in her chest, and you know that the damage is too great, that she won't make it without help. And there is no more help. There may never be help again.

"Sara."

You sit down beside her. You had known, somehow, that you would both wind up here; here, the lab, the focal point of your lives. You might live in separate apartments but the lab is your home. And when you can't get in, you'll wait outside. You know you won't bother to force the doors; whether you're inside or outside, death is coming for you. Walls make no difference.

You pull her broken body into your lap, and she leans her head against your shoulder, snuggling into your torso as your wrap your arms around her. She's frail, light enough to move without getting up, and you scoot the two of you back into a corner, leaning your shoulders against the two walls. She isn't crying and you admire her strength as you stroke her hair, matted with dirt and blood.

The sun rises over what once was a city, and you wait for them to come and finish you off.