Hit & Run

By Mellaithwen

Disclaimer: For the last time, I want it, but I don't got it, capiche? (is that how you spell it?) And the lyrics belong to the wonderful Athlete

This is it. The last chapter, thank you to everyone who reviewed, they DO make the world go around you know.

Chapter 8, Half Light

"Mr Mason." His lawyer called again, and Rex looked up, avoiding the CSI's eyes, there was an obvious slump in his shoulders. Nick raised his hands. "Stay here." He commanded, knowing there was enough evidence to get him convicted, it was just a matter of fetching Brass.

When Grissom saw Nick and Brass striding quickly to one of the interrogation rooms he wasted no time in joining them, the other two understanding, and feeling the same way when Catherine too joined them.

Grissom had wanted to see his face. He had wanted to see him and he couldn't explain why. Was he facing his fears? Not fear of the man who sat down being interrogated, but of the notion that this wasn't the guy, that somewhere Greg's killer was still out there. Still driving. They would get him for one death, if not both Greg's and Jenna Mason's, Grissom wouldn't stand for anything short of the death penalty.

He had stayed in the corner, and simply watched with Nick, as Catherine and Brass made their case to the lawyer present. Every piece of evidence was mounted against him. This would be the last interrogation with this man, before his trial, and his conviction.

As Grissom sat there, a memory of an old case came to his mind. That had been a hit and run too.

'When a driver hits a pedestrian the presumption is the driver is negligent, when a drivers been drinking and hits a pedestrian, it's no longer negligence it's reckless homicide'

"When you hit a person with your car and drive away, it isn't an accident, its murder. You drove away, because your backseat was covered in blood." Grissom said softly from where he stood, while Nick kept quiet, clenching his fists and telling himself not to kill Mason there and then.

"Didn't wanna risk your car being brought in, Mr. Mason? Thought you'd just go straight to the body shop didn't you." Brass asked.

"But you know what," Catherine said, a grim smile on her face "You can clean a car as much as you want but Jenna Mason's blood is still all over the back seat and Greg Sanders' blood is still all over the bonnet."

"You raped and murdered a little girl, and you're responsible for the death of a truly great man," Catherine continued from her place opposite Mason. Her voice was strong, while inside she was shaking but not once did she falter in her words.

"I'm going to make it my mission that you get a needle in your arm." She hissed and stood up, leaving the room, files in hand. Grissom followed her outside but as Catherine made her way to her own office, Grissom realized how far apart they were now, and felt strangely distant.

In the interrogation room Rex Mason had been left alone save for the two silent officers at the door, who looked at him as though he were a pile of garbage. He felt as though a stone had dropped in his stomach. He knew that these people wouldn't rest until he was dead, and a part of him knew they wouldn't have to try hard.

While outside Gil Grissom, a man known for not showing his feelings, a stoic man, sometimes described as cold, slid down the wall to the ground and buried his face in his hands.


Sara stood in the doorway watching the couple huddle together, gripping each others hands. She took a deep breath and entered the room. "Mr and Mrs Mason?" She called. They looked up suddenly. Sara walked over to them and sat on the table opposite where they sat.

"Is it, is it over?" Mrs Mason whispered, hardly able to believe their daughter's killer had been found, his identity a cruel reminder of how they should have prevented it all.

Sara put her hand atop of theirs, still entwined.

"Yes, it's over."

Husband and wife embraced and Sara left them to their privacy, wishing more than anything that it really was over, but as she passed the lab, the quiet lab, with no music blaring through the stereo, though it had been that way for a while after Greg began to go out into the field. No dancing lab tech, 'CSI' she corrected, just emptiness.

She knew it would never be over, and at that moment, the lab described Sara Sidle perfectly. She was empty. An eerie silence coupled with the exhaustion of the past week or so made Sara want to do nothing more than leave and go home to sleep, maybe even dream sweet memories instead of reliving the nightmare that was her life.


"Rex Mason, I am arresting you for the rape and murder of Jenna Mason, the murder of Greg Sanders and leaving the scene of an accident." Brass felt a strange pleasure as he said the words as though he had been waiting to do so.

He grabbed the man roughly by his bound wrists, pushing him forward down the hallway.

Faces, angry and solemn poked out of their labs. The work of the Crime Scene Investigators and lab techs of Las Vegas came to a stand still as America's finest glared at the man in cuffs, stumbling over his feet, regrets pushing down on him. He kept his eyes on the ground as he saw more and more people's feet line up around him.

The nails of the officer behind him digging in to his arms, but he didn't dare complain. He knew it would only intensify if they knew they were making him uncomfortable.

The buzz of machines stopped, and silence reigned all around the building.

"Asshole." He heard someone whisper to the side, but he didn't acknowledge them. He didn't look, or try to answer in his smart-arse attitude. He kept walking through the hallway, until the doors came into view. The sunlight shining through them.

But he wasn't walking towards freedom, nor redemption. The light was the opposite of the darkness in him. The darkness he would know as he sat in his four by four cell, paying the price for his sins.


A policeman on his motor-bike led the many cars to the small clearing where the procession was being held. The cars parked, and the people filed out, all seeming so similar in their black attire. Smartly dressed so that Sara could almost imagine the males sweeping the women into their embrace, dancing as they twirled to the site, where officers waited for their orders.

Sara stood, arms folded across her chest. Tear drop after tear drop falling onto her black dress, little wet marks not showing through the dark fabric. Her hair was tied back and two strands hung down by her face, curled slightly at the bottom. Her face was pale; it had been for a while now.

Silver streaks of tears stained her cheeks but she made no effort to wipe them away. She had watched as the priest proceeded with the ceremony that would lead to the man she loved being buried six feet under ground.

She had stayed there, a part of her wanting to collapse to the ground, to fall and hope that someone would catch her. Or at least see her fall, but she didn't. She stood her ground and grieved in horrible, lonely, sadness that tore at her heart and crumpled her spirit to ash.

Ash

Ashes

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

She felt like screaming at the priest to be quiet. To stop with his meaningless words; his empty condolences. What did he know? He worshipped someone he'd never even met. He went from blessing newborns to burying them when they died. His world was a circle of life and death. How could her deal with that?

She had seen people who believed in God mourn as much as any atheist, so why then does he not cry. Yes, he didn't know the deceased, but it's still a life lost. It's still a waste of a kind, honest, wonderful man. Surely that deserves a tear! She was being ridiculous, and she knew it.

Nick Stokes, Gil Grissom and Warrick Brown had helped carry the coffin to where it would be buried, along with some of Greg's family, while others from the lab, old friends and family watched. The members of the police force that were gathered around them stepped forward and after placing the coffin down on the specially placed holder, they lifted the American flag off of its surface, and folded it expertly, until it was naught but a small square held in the white gloved hands on the senior officer.

He stepped forwards, his feet precise, and gave the flag to the grieving mother, his head bowed as he did so, before stepping back and saluting her, while his officers did the same. He turned back around and joined his patrol, and as the coffin was laid into the six foot deep hole by members of the CSI team, the officers took their place in a line, lifting their guns, listening for the cry from their senior officer and letting the bullets shoot through the barrel and out into the sky. Another cry, another shot, the same again and again. The ritual of the burial being performed perfectly.

Sara had stood there, Catherine by her side. A hand on her shoulder. Comforting, well, trying to, but not succeeding. They all knew how close she had gotten to Greg since the team split. The hollow hole would never be filled. She walked over to where there they had lowered him into the ground, to where Greg's mother and father stood, the latter with his arm around the smaller woman.

All around her people were waiting to fill the remaining space with soil. She took hold of the lily she had kept and threw it into the ground, watching with detached fascination as it landed on his final resting place.

Sara walked back and waited as the funeral proceeded barely registering anything that happened next, people said their peace, kind words, and comforting praise, and soon, it was over. The crowd began to disperse, the Tahoe's and the hearse's waiting, parked on the road as people filed into the black cars. Greg's parents said inaudible words to their son, before his father led his sobbing wife away. Sara looked at Catherine, and the older woman knew she wanted to be alone and she left they younger woman with her thoughts.

She couldn't get the thought of him being behind her when she had received the news, a time that seemed so long ago. She had spoken with him, and he had replied, she hadn't dreamt it, how could she have? She didn't even know then! She sighed, and took a shaky breath. Sweet memories would haunt her forever as she tried to sleep, horrible regrets and the knowing that you have no idea what you have until it's gone.

As Sara began to walk away from the grave she bowed her head, but the wind bristling past her hear made her look up. Far away, at the very back of the cemetery she saw a figure. She smiled in recognition at his spiky hair and wide grin. She closed her eyes, the wind blew again, and she felt a small pressure on her lips, when she opened her eyes she could have sworn she saw another pair staring straight at her, but as the lights fell away and they focused, she saw nothing but the empty hill stretching in front of her.

'So when I see you next we'll make the most of it,
Tell the sun to start moving again,
The taste of your kiss I still got on my lips,
And I'll take you there with me-'Athlete

The End

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