A/N: My usual apologies for the massive delay between postings. I haven't been feeling quite myself lately, but things are improving nicely and I'm excited to continue the story. So sit back and enjoy chapter 8. It's hands down my favorite so far. ^_^

CHAPTER 8

Sara sat perched on the edge of the break room sofa, running her fingers through her lover's salt and pepper curls. The day's events had been rougher on him than she had expected, and it made her that much more determined to end this nightmare. Come hell or high water, Sara would find a way.

"Will you be all right here by yourself for a little while?"

He nodded weakly, teetering on the edge of sleep.

She hated to leave him alone, but there was still a little business to take care of before she could take him home. "I just need to call the Ashfield archive, and fax the sketch over. I won't be long."

She wanted to finish this as quickly as possible; Gil was beginning to feel a little feverish under her touch. She reluctantly left the break room to find Brass taping a "no entry" order to the door. He flashed a mischievous smile. "Sanders started a rumor that one of Gil's experiments in the fridge went bad. No one's gonna be coming down here tonight."

Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Now with any luck, the impending phone call could finally net them some answers.

A brief email conversation the previous day with Tyler Madison--the young librarian whom Sara had dealt with before--set up this meeting. He wrote that he couldn't be there personally, but he would make sure that someone would be to receive the late-night call. Such was the down side of working the graveyard shift.

The kindly voice of an older woman answered the phone. "Ashfield Public Library, how may I help you?"

"This is CSI Sidle with the Las Vegas crime lab--"

"Yes yes yes, Tyler told me the whole story. The whole town was quite relieved to hear that you found your friend. You were both very lucky. How has he been?"

Sara thought of Grissom, sick from stress, pushed to the brink of collapse. "He's managing. He still has good days and bad days. That's actually why I'm calling. An...issue has come up and I need your help to identify something."

An uneasy sigh escaped the librarian. "I have to admit, I'm not exactly comfortable with where this is going, but I want to offer whatever help I can. If there is a record of what you're looking for anywhere in this library, I'll find it."

Sara loaded the sketch into the fax machine, and punched in the number that Tyler had given her. "I can't thank you enough for this. I'm faxing over the drawing now."

She could faintly hear the fax being received on the other end, but it took a moment for the other woman to return to the phone. When she finally did, it was hardly the response that Sara was expecting.

Her voice had suddenly taken on a hard, serious edge. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"What? Do you recognize it?"

"I can't be seen with this," she growled, and slammed the phone down, leaving a bewildered Sara to wonder what went wrong.

Catherine hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she overheard Hodges chatting with Mandy and Henry, sharing the latest rumors to circulate around the lab. She normally wouldn't have paid much attention, but hearing about one of Grissom's experiments going bad in the break room fridge made her take notice.

Maybe I should look into that before Nick finds out,she thought. It was widely assumed that after the last time Nick blew up about it, Grissom had stopped using the break room fridge for his experiments. Or he had at least gotten better at hiding them. Still, Nick had been taking Grissom's odd behaviour especially hard; witnessing the panic attack first hand had shaken him nearly as badly as Gil. Taking care of this quietly would be the least she could do.

A fairly large area leading up to the break room was completely deserted. It seemed that people wanted to be as far away as possible in case the rumors were true. It wasn't like Grissom would leave anything hazardous in the community fridge, but his nickname "Gruesome Grissom" was well deserved. She cast one last glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody caught her ignoring the "NO ENTRY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE" sign, and she quietly slipped inside.

Something wasn't quite right; there were no noxious fumes in the room, nothing was trying to claw its way out of the fridge, everything seemed perfectly normal. So why keep everyone out?

And then she saw the still form stretched out on the sofa.

"Gil?"

He was sound asleep and didn't respond. God, he looked awful. He was easily as pale as he was right after the storage locker incident, complete with the thin sheen of sweat on his face. What was he even doing here? He should be at home, in his own bed, and Catherine was perfectly willing to drag him there herself.

She laid a hand on his shoulder intending to wake him, but she recoiled at the unexpected heat. Oh no...

Shifting her hand up to his forehead confirmed her fear. Gil only ran a fever with the worst of his migraines, and judging from the evidence in front of her, the poor guy was in some serious pain. It was probably too late for medication at this stage, so sleep was the only relief he'd get until this passed. She just didn't have the heart to wake him up anymore. It would be better to let him wake up on his own, then take him home.

The same deeply instinctive worry that kept her at the storage facility crept back in. It made no sense. It was true that Gil didn't get migraines this bad very often--the last one had to be more than ten years ago--but it had happened before. Why did this one bother her so much? Ultimately, she chalked it up to the dread she felt at having to confront him about seeking professional help.

Or at this rate, medical attention.

Catherine sighed and gave her friend a gentle pat. For now, she would just let him sleep.

The staircase seemed to go on forever, but he could finally see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. He had no idea what was waiting for him at the top, but it had to be better than the narrow, stuffy stairs he was leaving behind.

The door was heavily rusted, but unlocked, and it opened with a tortured creak. It lead...outside! It was no brighter than the darkness he had just come from, but the fresher air was a welcome change. Wherever he was, he gathered that he must be on the roof.

He couldn't see very far in front of him, but there didn't seem to be much to see. A quick wander revealed that he was in a small area enclosed by a tall chain link fence. A cinder block structure that almost looked like a utility shed stood to his left. The sturdy door read "Elevator Control Room". It didn't feel overly important, but he tested it anyway. No good; the door was either locked, or rusted shut.

The thick, swirling fog made it impossible to see beyond the fence. Damn. The rooftop would have made a good vantage point. There was nothing else to investigate, so he supposed that he had no choice but to go back the way he came.

He reached to open the door, but the knob wouldn't turn. It didn't feel locked...

Someone was holding it shut from the other side, and he had a pretty good idea who it was. He swallowed an obscenity, and slammed a fist against the door. "Lurie! Let me in!"

That infuriating, not-quite-sane chuckle filtered through the barrier. "Come now, Doctor. You'll disappoint your guest. He so wants to see you."

Guest?

Fuck...

The deafening squeal of the great knife dragging made him wheel around, coming practically face to face with the helmeted monster. It growled menacingly, and he could feel the unnerving seperation beginning again; his body left behind as the beast took a stranglehold on his mind.

"You know how to find her."

Terror kept his body backing toward the fence, but a surge of anger allowed him to speak.

"What do you want with her? She has nothing to do with this!"

It was unmoved. "You will take me to her."

It was a relentless, remorseless machine bent on fulfilling an objective that he couldn't understand. Besides not having the slightest idea how to bring her to this awful place, did it really expect him to just hand her over?

His outstretched hands could feel the fence behind him; there was nowhere left to run, but he refused to meet its demand. Even if it cost him his life.

"You're not getting Sara!"

Wrong answer.

The creature covered the remaining distance with astonishing speed, raising its weapon. But the death blow never came. Instead, he was struck squarely across the chest by the flat side of the blade, not the cutting edge. Winded and heavily stunned by the impact, he reeled backwards into the fence, its rusted links easily snapping under his weight. Time seemed to slow as he wavered on the edge of the rooftop.

He could have sworn the creature wore a look of satisfaction as it watched him fall.

He never saw the rotting roof of the storey below. Darkness engulfed him as he crashed through it.

Sara slowly shuffled back toward the break room, rolling the swab Grissom had given her between her fingers. In all the worry and confusion she'd mostly forgotten about it, but now it was her last lead. She wasn't optimistic, but she had to pursue it anyway. For Gil.

And apparantly, she wasn't the only one thinking of him.

A sombre Catherine emerged from the break room, nearly walking right into Sara. She quickly concealed the swab in her hand.

"Oh! Sara! I...was just...uh--"

"It's all right," Sara explained. "The sign and the rumor were Greg's idea, and they served their purpose. I'm taking Grissom home now."

"Actually, would you mind holding off for a little while?"

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, Gil's okay. He's sleeping like a rock in there. Doc Robbins wanted to have a quick look at him, and now seems like a pretty good time."

Sara was torn; she wanted to get him home and into his own bed as soon as possible, but hanging around for just a little longer was tempting too. She wanted to start bringing Greg up to speed, and getting Doc Robbins' opinion of Gil's condition wouldn't hurt anything either.

"All right. That actually sounds like a good idea. Keep me posted?"

"I will."

Greg had fallen into an uneasy silence working alongside Nick, giving his and Grissom's cameras a thorough cleaning--especially around the battery connections. They were pretty much finished with the evidence recovered from the storage locker; the blood on the corner of the toolbox belonged to the victim, and Doc Robbins had taken a mold of the body's head wound, which he was en route to drop off. Nick wanted to use the lull to satisfy a small personal matter. He was at a loss to explain why both cameras had failed simultaneously, and a little preventative maintenance was the best course of action he could think of.

Nick was working on his own camera, and Greg on Grissom's. The memory of the strange, evil energy was still fresh in the younger man's mind, and still just as unsettling. Where was it coming from? What did it mean? He felt that he should know. Sara provided a merciful distraction when she appeared in the doorway.

"Greg? If you have a minute, can you have a look at something for me?"

He was perfectly aware of Nick intently eyeing him, but he left to follow Sara without a word.

"Wow. Just...wow. That is messed up. This is what Grissom saw in that locker?" Greg asked, looking over the sketch for the first time.

Sara nodded and held up the swab that Gil had collected. "And this is what he says led him to that locker to begin with. He said he followed a trail of blood drops, and he collected this sample. I can't see any evidence of blood on it, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it's not there."

Greg took the item with a solemn reverence, as if it were a priceless artifact that he didn't dare damage. "You have my word, I will run this myself."

"Run what yourself?"

Both of them jumped, startled by Nick's sudden entrance. Neither had heard him following them.

Now Nick was angry. "I've had about enough of this. There is something seriously wrong with Grissom, and you two know a lot more than you're letting on."

A crippling pain circulating through his head slowly brought Grissom back to consciousness, though he wasn't feeling ambitious enough to pry his eyes open. He couldn't tell if his poor abused skull wanted to explode or implode, but either would relieve the pressure. What the hell happened? The last thing he remembered was...

That monster pushed him off the roof.

That explained the pain he was in, but something was still amiss. The surface he was lying on was too soft to be the ground. Did someone move him? Where was he?

He could feel the presence of others with him, wherever he was. It couldn't be the creature that attacked him; he heard human voices. One--male, and familiar, but he couldn't place it--drew near.

"It's not the whole picture by any means," it said, "but I can get a general idea without waking him up."

A cool and impossibly gentle hand laid against his cheek, then shifted to probe at his throat. Someone must have found him after his fall from the roof; this person was obviously concerned about his welfare.

Gil was still terribly confused about his situation, but he currently lacked the means to find anything out. On the plus side, he didn't feel threatened at the moment. Quite the opposite, in fact.

His brief foray into awareness drained his meager energy, and he allowed the blackness to claim him once more.

Sara and Greg were well and truly screwed. Nick had already heard and seen too much; there would be no bluffing their way out of it this time, but he would never believe the truth. She wasn't sure if she believed the truth.

And then it dawned on her. If she handled this carefully, she could placate Nick without any further embarrassment to Grissom.

"We don't know anything. We're just--"

"You're sure acting like you know something. What's all this stuff?"

A half truth wasn't technically a lie, though it felt just as bad. She felt awful about misleading her friend who was only worried about his mentor, but there was no other way. She needed to steer him toward a safer subject.

"The swab is a sample that Grissom collected from the storage locker--the one that the body was in--and in all the chaos, he forgot that he had it in his pocket. It's probably nothing anyway, but he asked me to make sure that it got processed today."

Nick huffed, unexpectedly satisfied with the plausible explanation. "And that paper?"

"I promised Grissom that nobody would see it without his permission."

His brown eyes narrowed slightly in a moment of jealousy. Sara caught it, and quickly expanded on her answer. "Greg has...a certain expertise in this area. I can't share this with anyone else right now. I'm sorry."

All of the worry and anxiety of the last few days bubbled to the surface in a flare of anger directed at no one in particular. "What do you think you're protecting him from? We're his friends. His family. We're not gonna judge him over this. He has nothing to be ashamed of here. It's not his fault! He's the victim in all this! We're just...we're..."

As suddenly as it came, it was gone, anger fading into the frustration it truly was, and he slumped dejectedly into an empty chair. "We're just trying to help him."

"So are we, Nick. We're following the evidence, just like Grissom would want us to."

A darkness passed over Nick, and he hung his head. "You know as well as I do where the evidence is leading. Catherine's right. We can't give him what he needs. I know; I've been there."

He so rarely spoke of his own near-death experience. Seeing Grissom in such distress had to be dredging up all kinds of unpleasant memories. "Just when you think you have everything under control, something happens to put you right back where you started. But I think I see your point. Admitting that you can't handle something like this yourself is hard. It must be hell for a guy like Grissom."

Sara offered the only truth that she was sure of. "He'll follow through on whatever conclusion the evidence leads him to."

Nick sighed, and stood up. "You're right, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch him struggle for it. Damn...I need a coffee."

She weighed the decision carefully. She'd gone to great lengths to keep people out of the break room, but she felt reasonably confident after their conversation that Nick wouldn't harass Gil. "There's a sign on the break room door. Go ahead and ignore it, but try not to let anyone see you."

"Something going on? I haven't heard. I've been kinda...off in my own little world today."

"I just need to keep traffic down there as light as possible for a little while, and I'll trust you to keep it that way."

He nodded and headed for the door.

"Hey, Nick?" Greg spoke up for the first time during the whole exchange. "In the back of the cupboard above the coffee machine, there's just enough Blue Hawaiian for one pot."

The only people Nick encountered were Catherine and Doc Robbins, quietly chatting amongst themselves. He assumed they were discussing the case, quite possibly confirming that the victim had accidentally killed himself with his own toolbox. He planned to find out for himself after grabbing a cup of coffee.

Just like Sara had said, a large "NO ENTRY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE" sign was taped to the break room door. She also said to ignore it, but then why bother having it there in the first place?

His answer was waiting for him inside.

Good Lord, what was Grissom doing at the lab in his state? Even asleep he appeared to be in pain. Was there no one available to drive the poor guy home?

Was anyone brave enough to wake him up so they could take him home? Doubtful. Nick certainly wasn't.

As much as the hands-off approach hurt, he knew Sara was right; Grissom needed to make his own decisions at his own pace. He wouldn't appreciate being pushed into anything, even if it was for his own good.

He definitely wouldn't appreciate being woken up by some jerk who ignored the 'do not enter' sign on the door, so Nick set about making his coffee as silently as possible, and he made a mental note to save a cup or two for Grissom. After all, Greg didn't share his Blue Hawaiian every day.

Gil was awakened a second time by the sound of running water. The comforting oblivion was still tugging at him, but he fought it; it was time to find out just what was going on.

He forced his uncooperative eyes open, squinting at the harsh light, and pushed himself upright as quickly as the nausea and vertigo allowed. Again, he found he wasn't alone. Someone stood at a counter facing away from him. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think this was the same man from earlier. He never saw his first visitor, but the voice sounded older than the person before him now.

As luck would have it, Nick ended up needing to dig out and open a new box of coffee filters. He made every effort to extract the utility knife from the drawer without making noise, but he heard movement from the sofa behind him.

Damn.

"Sorry Gris. Didn't mean to wake you up."

The voice confirmed that this was a different person than before. But like before, something was very familiar about this man, and Gil just couldn't place it. It felt like something was preventing him from placing it. He gave his head a shake to clear the cobwebs. "Where am I?"

Nick winced. That couldn't be a good sign. "You're in the break room. I guess you must have needed to crash pretty badly. How's your head?"

Gil let out a low groan. "Sore."

The younger man paused. The coffee was beginning to brew, but that probably wasn't the best thing for Grissom at that moment. Fortunately, a better idea was close at hand, and Nick quickly filled and plugged in the electric kettle. "I've got just the thing."

Something wasn't right. The stranger's actions seemed innocent enough, his concern seemed genuine, but something was stirring a deep suspicion and anxiety.

Nick, busy rummaging through a cupboard, remained oblivious to his friend's inner conflict. "Catherine's got some tea up here...some herbal, minty something-or-other, supposed to be good for headaches. It's not my thing, but she swears by the stuff."

A hastily boiled mug of tea was placed on the table in front of Gil. He took a moment to enjoy the steam, but froze before the first sip.

Fragmented images flashed through his mind. He remembered tea being poured from a thermos. An old kerosene lamp. The gates of a cemetery. A young man leaning over him.

"Are you all right, sir?"

What brought that on? He probed deeper into the uncovered memories.

The tea...

He remembered reading something recently.

Medicinal in small doses. Ancient records show it was used in religious ceremonies. Hallucinogenic effect was key.

Things did start to go downhill after the first cup of tea...

The tea!

White Claudia.

Gil was right. He did know this young man who looked so much like Nick. "You..."

His eyes narrowed as pain sharpened into anger. He set the mug down and rose from his seat. "This all started with you..."

"How can you sit and stare at that thing? Just having it around creeps me out."

Ever since Nick left the room, Greg had been studying the drawing of the hideous monster that was terrorizing Grissom. "There's something about Pyramid Head here..."

Sara cocked an eyebrow. "Pyramid Head?"

Greg shrugged. "Well, what would you call it? Anyway, I think I've seen it before."

She hardly dared to believe it. Greg would actually share what he knew instead of hanging up on her. "Really? I don't remember anything like thisin the stuff you faxed over to me in Ashfield."

"It wouldn't be in with that. I only faxed over info that seemed relevant at the time to finding Grissom. I dug up tons more besides that." He furrowed his brow and started drumming nervously on the table. "Where the hell did I see it?"

Sara sighed; it seemed like every time she closed in on an answer, it was yanked a little farther out of reach. But she had faith in Greg. He would tirelessly pursue the slightest trace of a lead. Gil couldn't be in better hands. Which reminded her...

"I need to check in with Catherine, then with any luck, I'm taking Grissom home."

He followed her to the door. "I'm gonna see if Nick left any coffee, and see if I can run that swab for you. And I promise I'll let you know the second I get anything about Pyramid Head."

Greg wandered down towards the break room, lost in thought about his mission. His mental rolodex wasn't turning up what he needed, but he was sure he'd find it on his home computer after work. Most of his research from the original case was still there; creepy as hell, but too fascinating to get rid of.

He hardly noticed the commotion in the break room until he was right outside.

"You and that sister of yours...you were the ones that fed me this poison!" Greg watched through the partially open door as Grissom gave the mug an angry swat with the back of his hand, shattering it against the far wall. "And that's when everything went to hell."

Nick took a step back, a trace of fear emerging in his voice. "What are you talking about? I would never--"

Gil cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Nate." He advanced unsteadily, fighting to maintain his balance. "You're going to tell me exactly what's going on."

Both younger men were genuinely scared now. What did Grissom think he was doing? Nick was backed right up against the counter, and the unstable supervisor was still closing in. "Grissom? What the hell?"

"I'm not playing this game again. You people had your fun with me, and then you let me go."

He was so close now that Nick could plainly see the sweat trickling down his friend's face, see the madnessin his glazed eyes. He was too frozen by fear and disbelief to defend himself as Grissom grabbed the front of his shirt, and roughly shoved him into the cabinets. "Why am I back here?"

"Gris! I swear to God I don't know!"

Neither Nick nor Greg would ever forget the next terrifying seconds as Grissom snatched the forgotten utility knife from the counter, and raised it to strike. "LIAR!"

No time to curse himself for not intervening sooner; Greg flung the door open and launched himself at Gil.

The crazed man wasn't expecting an ambush, and Nick was able to sieze the opportunity to slip away. He was still trapped in the room, but out of easy reach. His mind screamed at him to do something, anything, but all he could do was watch two of his closest friends wrestle for control of the weapon.

Grissom was bigger than Greg, and frighteningly strong in his delusional state, but his opponent had the element of surprise on his side.

At first.

Once the initial shock wore off, Grissom redoubled his effort to complete the downward stab, and Greg was tiring quickly. In a flash of pure survival instinct he used Gil's own momentum against him, deflecting the blow harmlessly to the side. He knew he'd never be able to physically pry the knife out of Grissom's hand, but he needed to be disarmed as quickly as possible. A sharp downward pull to the counter should do the trick.

It sounded great in theory, but in the heat of the moment the manoeuvre was grossly miscalculated. Instead of the flat surface, Gil's forearm was slammed into the counter's edge with a sickening crack.

The utility knife clattered to the floor as he sank to his knees, cradling the injury. Breathless from the sudden pain, he looked around for his attacker. This completely changed the situation; Gil was sure he could have handled Nate, but now he was outnumbered. The party crasher seemed to be tending to Nate, so now was his chance to flee.

Regaining his footing didn't prove easy. An intense wave of dizziness washed over him, and it felt as if the floor was swaying under his feet. There was a new sound in the background as well, faint at first but steadily growing louder. A siren? Sour bile burned the back of his throat as the room swam in and out of focus. Nate recovered faster than he expected, and approached cautiously, hands extended in a non-threatening gesture.

"Easy Gris, no one's gonna hurt you. Everything will be fine as long as you stay calm."

Lies. Enough of these lies! He didn't know what Nate's true agenda was, and he didn't want to know. He wanted to get as far away from this place and this awful noise as he could.

Feverish, dizzy, nauseous, and desperate to escape this hell, Gil burst out of the break room and careened into the wall outside. Fresh pain exploded in his broken arm, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright. What the hell was happening? The very fabric of reality was warping around him.

Tiles cracked and buckled beneath him. Paint peeled from the walls and evaporated into thin air. Glass splintered and shards rained down, crumbling into diamond dust. A century of neglect overtook everything right before his eyes. The siren thankfully began to die down, but the silence left behind was even worse.

Even people weren't immune from the shift. Nate Westmore's cohort had appeared human at first, but what stumbled out into the hall was anything but. A shambling corpse lurched toward him, a translucent veil of skin covering its face, arms bound tightly around its torso; a strait jacket of flesh.

Fuck.

I need to get out of here!

Warrick Brown had spent the better part of the night in the lab's garage, giving it a sorely needed thorough cleaning. His MP3 player set to the decibel equivalent of a jet engine left him blissfully unaware of the chaos just outside.

All was well; the tools were neatly organized, workbenches were scrubbed down and de-cluttered, the floor had been mopped and was nearly dry. All was well until the next song on his playlist didn't load properly. What was up with that? Static popped and crackled like it was trying to read a corrupted file. Puzzled, he skipped ahead a few songs, then picked some at random. What happened to all his music? With a disappointed sigh, he removed the earbuds and pocketed the player.

Never mind his music, what was going on outside? It sounded like a heated argument. So heated that he wondered if he would need to intervene. A muffled crash and a cry of pain made the decision for him; things were getting physical.

"What's going on out here?"

Warrick barely had time to ask the question when he was violently winded by a shoulder to the ribs.

Another monster, larger and more grotesque than the first, attempted to block his escape, and Gil barrelled right into it. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of it, but that was more than enough; a roughly humanoid figure towered over him, its decaying flesh mottled a dark, sickly brown. Thick bulbous arms extended to the ground, doubling as a second set of legs. A small circle of claws like the mouth of a lamprey eel replaced conventional hands. Most disturbing of all, its entire face consisted of a single lidless eye, twitching and spinning wildly.

It scrambled to regain its footing, but it made no aggressive move. He had no doubt that he just angered the creature, but it wasn't showing hostility. It moved toward him, but it hugged the wall, keeping its distance. What kind of twisted game was it playing? It didn't look to be built for speed, but the otherwordly transition he had just endured left Gil feeling too shaken and weak to outrun it if it made a sudden move. Why wasn't it trying to attack?

Sara walked slowly with Catherine and Doc Robbins, finally on her way to collect Grissom. "There's really not much I can do for him," the coroner began. "I'm placing him on two weeks medical leave as of today, but if this doesn't improve soon, seeking professional help for him may be the only option. The department may insist on it. About the best thing I can suggest in the meantime, is to keep doing whatever you can to keep his stress levels down."

Sara's stomach lurched at the mere mention of finding a therapist for Gil. If she was right, any treatment they came up with would likely do more harm than good. Worst case scenario, he could end up committed over this! Her thoughts drifted to poor Travis Grady...

Catherine's outstretched arm brought the group to an abrupt halt, bringing Sara back into the moment. "Guys, wait...something's wrong." She couldn't make out exactly what was going on, but the hall ahead was too crowded for comfort.

A ghastly chill coursed through Sara, and she darted forward before Catherine could stop her. "Gil!"

The strawberry blonde charged in pursuit, and a stunned Doc Robbins followed as fast as his prosthetic legs would allow.

"Gil!"

He spun around and swayed dizzily at the familiar voice calling his name. Warrick almost dared to relax a little. He was rattled to the core from the tackle, and he'd been preparing for a violent showdown. He'd retained the presence of mind to block the door to the nearby ballistics lab, but now he wasn't so sure he'd be able to keep Grissom out if he had to. Who knew the old bugman could hit so hard!

"...Sara?"

Securing a weapon seemed to be the furthest thing from Gil's mind.

Sara...walking among the dead made her look even more angelic. Whatever disease had taken over the rest of the world, it hadn't corrupted her. He wouldn't allow that to happen. But how did she get here? Did she have any idea just how much danger she was in?

She was too focused on him and didn't notice the demon closing in from behind, reaching out to grab her. In an instant all thoughts of pain, fear, and sickness were forgotten, replaced by a powerful protective instinct. Replaced with an overwhelming urge to destroy anything that would do harm to the woman he loved. With a speed and raw ferocity that no one imagined Grissom was capable of, he lunged at Sara's would-be attacker.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!"

Nick was just beginning to emerge from the shock-induced stupor that had paralyzed him.

Grissom attacked me...

He could have been killed if Greg hadn't stepped in. It happened right in front of him, but how was he supposed to accept such a thing? It just didn't seem possible.

Grissom! Attacked me with a knife!

The scene outside seemed to be unfolding in slow motion. Out of the blue, Grissom had launched himself at Catherine and Sara. The pair ducked into the locker room before he could reach them, and Warrick acted swiftly as well, wrestling their ailing leader to the ground. Greg jumped in to assist, but even their combined efforts were no match for Grissom's rage. Nick had to get a hold of himself before someone else got hurt!

He thought he heard someone calling his name, but he couldn't be sure. The haze of terror and disbelief was abruptly lifted by a sharp thwack across the shins from the coroner's crutch. "Nick! I need you. I can't get close enough to do this."

Nick could only stare dumbly as Doc Robbins withdrew a slender syringe from his pocket.

The creature that had taken Sara was one Gil hadn't seen before. This one was distinctly female, but that's about where the differences ended. A curvacious form and revealing clothing couldn't hide the lurching gait of a Hollywood zombie, or the layer of bloodstained bandages obscuring its face.

If this perversion of an attractive woman was supposed to distract him, it failed miserably. It was locked in with his Sara, and he'd get her back by any means necessary. If that meant breaking the door down, then that's exactly what he would do. His broken arm screamed from every bone-jarring impact, but he'd worry about that later.

The other demons were trying to stop him. The armless one blocked his path while the claws of the other raked his back and shoulders. Minor irritations at best. The strait-jacket was sent flying with a powerful sweep of his arm, and the lidless eye staggered back from a swift elbow jab to the gut.

He didn't see the third monster until it was too late.

A flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and a new, blinding pain seared through his right leg. Another lidless eye creature--slightly smaller and lighter in color than the one harassing him--stood just to the side, flexing its strange, clawed hand. The center of the ring of claws apparently housed a huge retractable spine, the tip of which was buried firmly in his thigh.

He hardly recognized the agonized howl ringing in his ears as his own.

That inhuman scream of pain and terror would haunt Nick for the rest of his days. With trembling hands he gently guided Grissom to the floor as his leg gave out. It was no small feat that he managed to remove the needle without breaking the tip off. God, the heat that was pouring off of him...

There had been no time to ask what was in that syringe, but Nick assumed that it was some kind of tranquilizer. Administering it was only the first step. How long would it be before it took effect? The sooner the better, because the bugman still had plenty of fight in him.

Without warning, Grissom rounded on Nick and unleashed a devestating left hook with all the strength he could muster. Stars exploded in his vision as the fist connected with his cheekbone, then, nothing.

It couldn't have been more than a minute, but the scene Nick awoke to was completely different.

"What...where'd he go?"

The blurry figures of Catheine and Doc Robbins hovered over him, and Grissom was nowhere to be seen. He struggled to sit up, but the others firmly held him back.

"As soon as you let go, he bolted for the parkade," Al explained. "Greg, Sara, and Warrick are looking for him. He won't get too far; The haldol and lorazepam will start working their magic very soon."

If that was supposed to come as a relief, it wasn't working. "Let me up! I have to find him!"

The coroner wouldn't hear of it. "You're already getting one impressive black eye to go with that nice concussion. I can't let you go running off after him!"

Nick argued stubbornly as well, driven by a powerful, personal motive that he didn't have the time to explain. "Guys, please! You can haul me off to get checked out after. Right now I need to do this..."

Catherine saw the need in his eyes, and understood. She was there when his plexiglass tomb had been unearthed. She remembered how Grissom had jumped in--risking his own life in the process--and kept him together through those last terrifying minutes before he could be finally freed. When the lid was opened, she watched as he clung to Grissom's arm for dear life. Grissom had been the only one who could truly reach him.

"Nick? Can you hear me? It's gonna take us a minute to get you out of there, okay?"

"Pancho! Listen to me! Put your hand on my hand..."

"Al," Catherine said firmly, "let him go."

Pure adrenaline couldn't keep him going much longer, Gil realized as he aimlessly limped along. He didn't know what he would do when it finally ran out. Those monsters were still after him; they hadn't spotted him yet, but they were closing in fast. Losing consciousness now could mean a death sentence, and he was no good to Sara dead. But holy fuck his leg hurt! A cold burn spread slowly through his blood, making him weak and light-headed.

I should have figured that thing would be venomous.

With his strength bottoming out, all he could do was find a safe place to hide and pray like hell that they wouldn't find him. He could figure out what to do later, assuming the poison coursing through his system didn't kill him first.

Nick knew this game of hide and seek had to end quickly. While there weren't many places in the parkade that Grissom could have concealed himself in, there was always the possibility that he could escape onto the street. That gnawing worry grew with every passing minute.

The four searchers had split up to cover as much ground as possible, every one of them moving slowly and quietly as not to spook an already traumatized Grissom. A quiet sound echoed softly through the cavernous garage, catching everyone's attention. They all carefully converged upon the source with Nick leading the way.

They found him huddled between a wall and a parked car, trembling head to toe, retching fruitlessly. He didn't seem aware that he had been discovered.

"Grissom?"

His head snapped up and he recoiled in panic. Jesus, the poor guy was a wreck; white as a sheet, sweating bullets and practically hyperventilating, his eyes were so glassy and unfocused it was impossible to tell what he was actually looking at. God only knew what he was really seeing. Nick steeled himself for another violent outburst, but it never came. A spectrum of emotion passed over Gil's bloodless features: fear, confusion, then at last, recognition.

"...Nick?"

It was a step in the right direction, but he was still terribly disoriented.

"You can't be...how did you get here? Did those monsters follow you?"

It was better to play along just to keep him calm. "The monsters are gone. You're safe now."

Gil seemed to relax for a moment, but it didn't last. "Oh God...Sara! Where's Sara?!" He tensed under Nick's touch as he tried to stand, but the sedative was taking hold. He sank back down too weak to fight anymore.

Nick did his best to reassure his boss. "Sara's fine. She's just worried about you."

"But...but that monster took her..."

Sara was in fact standing only a few feet away with Greg and Warrick, but no one dared to approach. The group stood transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Sara's fine," Nick continued. "And you will be too. The monsters are gone."

Gil shook his head, growing visibly agitated. "No, they'll come back! They want Sara. I can't protect her."

"Gris, Sara is perfectly safe."

Grissom wanted so badly to believe that, but he couldn't. "Promise me...take Sara and get as far away from this place as you can. Before he finds her."

Nick swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. This was not the same man who had acted so aggressively only moments ago. No, this was his mentor, his friend, confused and frightened, in unimaginable pain. "I'll keep her safe, Gris. I promise."

The drugs were rapidly pulling him under, and defeated at last, he collapsed into Nick's arms. Only he heard Gil's slurred, pleading message.

"Leave her alone. Leave us both the hell alone."