A/N: The evil plot bunny strikes again! This is yet another Swarrick fic, staying with my latest theme. No doubt in a month or two I will have a different obsession…but, I'm sticking to this for now. So, this story is a bit of a spin-off if that one episode of CSI: Ney York, called 'Trapped'. The one where Danny gets trapped in the panic room with the dead body? If you know the episode, that's great, if you don't, that's okay, it's really not essential to the plot. Again, this is the evil workings of one of those random ideas that pops up in my head every once in a while, which I lovingly call plot bunnies. Oh, how I love them…

Disclaimer: I don't own it, wish I did, but don't…sorry…


Trapped in the Panic Room.


"Jesus Christ, will some one get us outta here?!" Sara Sidle yelled fruitlessly at the door. She banged on it for the third time since their entrapment, pulling back with a twisted look of pain etched upon her young features.

Every thing had been completely fine ten minutes ago. Completely. Fucking. Fine. Until, of course, Greg's curiosity and plain stupidity, which is what we all know really killed the cat, drew him to flick the 'Cool blinking switch' and lock Sara, along with Warrick Brown, in the panic room. Warrick Brown, of all people for Sara to be locked in with, it just had to be Warrick.

"God damn it, Greg Sanders, when I get out of here, you're going to have your neck wringed, I swear I will kill you!" Sara screamed at the door.

"Mind if I help?" asked Warrick.

Sara turned, glared at him, and turned back around.

"Catherine!" Sara whined. "What's going on out there?!"

"Don't worry, you two, we've called some one, their going to have you outta there in no time!" Catherine's voice said from the other side of the door. Sara detected a hint of doubt in her voice, however.

"Catherine," said Sara. "Speak the truth and you shall be heard."

"Ask me no more questions and I'll tell you no more lies!" Catherine sang.

"Catherine!" Sara growled.

"Well, um, Greg kinda broke the switch, so, their going to have to drill you out of there, it might take a little while," Catherine's tone told Sara that she still wasn't speaking the whole truth.

"How long it a little while?' asked Sara.

"Nine to twelve hours?" Catherine replied timidly.

"Uhg!" said Sara. "Sanders I am going to KILL you!" Sara put a frightening amount of emphases on the word 'kill.'

She turned around to stare at the small room. It was barely big enough for a bed, a desk, a toilet, a sink, and a small cupboard, stocked with what Sara was hopping was food. Obviously, some one had been expecting to spend a long time in here, just as they where about to.

"I can't believe we're stuck in here," said Sara. "This wasn't even part of the crime scene! Why where we even in here, for God's fucking sake?!"

"Some thing about Catherine wanting to check every thing in the perimeter?' Warrick said. "I can't remember."

All though neither of them wanted to admit it, panic was coursing through both of them. How where these rooms supposed to be good for panicking people? The close proximity to walls was enough in and of it's self to start Sara's heart beating way off key.

"Hey, you okay?" asked Warrick. "You look really pale."

"'m fine," she mumbled.

"Are you sure?" he asked, going to set a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched away from him and walked in the other direction.

"I'm fine, for god's sake!" said Sara. "I'll be just fine once they get us out of this thing!"

"Okay, gees," said Warrick, planting himself in the bed. "That's what a guy gets for trying to help…"

"Look," said Sara, turning to him. "I just really." She looked around the room. "Really don't like small spaces, okay?"

She gulped as she looked around again.

"Go to your room, Sara, you don't want to see this…"

'Okay, voices, you can get out of my head now' Sara thought.

Flash back

Her father steps into the house, drunk, as always. First, he slaps her, and then moves onto her mother, who gets the worst of his frustrations.

Then later, as he's lying, sprawled and drunk on the couch, her mother stumbles up to him. She starts mumbling in Hebrew; Sara can hardly follow what she's saying. She only gets the last of it. "This ends tonight.

"Go to you room, Sara, you don't want to see this…"


"Go to your room!"

Sara jumps and cowers. But, instead of going to her room, she crawls behind the couch. She peeks out from behind the couch just in time to see her mother plunge a large knife into her father's chest. She pulls it out and forces it back in more times than Sara can count. Frightened and longing for an explanation, Sara crawls out from behind the couch and wanders up to her mother, whom is weeping on the floor.

"Mommy? Mommy? What did you do to daddy, mommy?"

"I thought I told you to get out, you miserable lump!"




"Mommy! That hurts!"


"Mommy! I don't like the closet!"



End flash back.

"Is it just me, or are these walls getting closer and closer?" asked Sara, backing up into the middle of the room.

"Sara, are you sure you're alright?" asked Warrick.

"Yeah, I'm-" the room started spinning. "I'm-" panic began coursing through her body. "I'm…"

"Sara!" Warrick rushed forward as Sara's body fell limp and began falling towards the ground, not to mention a very hard impact.

"Warrick?!" he could hear Catherine's voice. "What's going on?"

"Sara just passed out!" said Warrick. He had managed to catch Sara and now had her head cradled in his lap. "I think she's having a panic attack!"

"Oh, Jesus," he could hear the panic in Catherine's voice. He imagined her pacing back and forth, wringing her hands. "Um, keep her head elevated, try to wake her up, um, oh, I don't know!"

"Sara," said Warrick. "Sara, baby, stay with me." He surprised himself at calling her 'baby', but, some how, it just seemed to roll off the tongue.

"Has she had these before?' asked Catherine.

"How should I know?" asked Warrick. "Grissom's the one you should be asking."

"Yeah, well," said Catherine. "Grissom's in Colorado, so we're kinda out of luck, aren't we?"

"So that's where bug man is when you need him…" said Warrick.

"Oh, god, I am going to kill Greg Sanders, just plain kill him!" said Catherine.

"Where's Greg now?" asked Warrick.

"Talking to suspects?" said Catherine. "I don't know. I told him to get lost."


Warrick looked to the source of the noise and found Sara's head moving back and forth.

"Don't wanna go in the closet," he mumbled again.

"Huh?" asked Warrick.

"What's going on in there?" asked Catherine.

"I think she's waking up," said Warrick.

"What do you mean you think?" asked Catherine.

"Well, she's mumbling and her head is moving, but so far she hasn't opened her eyes," Warrick, about to have a panic attack of his own, began snapping his fingers in front of Sara's face. "Come on Sara, wake up, baby." There was that word again!

"Poor water on her face!" said Catherine.

"Isn't that what we don't want to have to do?" asked Warrick.

"I don't know!" said Catherine. "I'm just as inexperienced as you when it comes to this!"

Warrick, fearing death due to pierced ear drum when Sara came to, set her head gently on the floor, sprinted to the sink, filled a small cup he had found lying on the side with water, and sprinted back over to Sara, where he proceeded to dump the water on her face.

The effects where immediate and spectacular. Sara sat up, mouth full of water, spit it out, and began screaming.

"Sara," said Warrick. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, for some odd reason. "Sara, baby, its okay." Damnit, Brown! Don't you know how to keep you big mouth closed?

This stopped Sara's screaming, but she still let him hold onto her. "What happened?" was the first thing out of her mouth.

"You're having a panic attack," said Warrick. "You just need to calm down and catch your breath."

"Oh, god," the worry in her voice was hard to put out. "I haven't had one of these in years…"

"You've had these before?" asked Warrick.

"Yeah," she said. "I, um, had a bad experience when I was a kid, and, I wouldn't even go in elevators until I was about twenty."

"Might that bad experience have some thing to do with a closet?" asked Warrick.

Sara gulped at him. "Who told you?"

"No one," said Warrick. "You where mumbling."

"Oh," said Sara, eye brows creasing. "I uh, suppose you want to hear the story?"

"Not if you don't want to tell me," he said.

"Actually…" Sara looked apologetic.

"That's okay," he said. "You need to relax, any way."

"Right," said Sara. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Relaxing," she replied in a sigh. "And feeling very comfortable while doing it."

She smiled a bit and yawned. "You won't mind if I fall asleep on you, would you?"

"Not in the slightest," he replied, also smiling. The old Sara was coming back. That stubborn, funny, some times annoying Sara that he had come to know and love.

Okay, his imagination had officially gone haywire.

"You called me baby, earlier," she said. "Am I your baby, Warrick?"

"Uh, err, um," Warrick stammered as Sara giggled. "Would you be upset if I said 'yes'?"

"Not at all," said Sara. "I haven't ever been any one's any thing."

"What?" asked Warrick? "Your mother never called you any thing like 'pumpkin' or 'sweet pea?'"

"Nope," said Sara. "She was too busy calling me 'it' or 'freak' or, the ever popular 'miserable lump.'"

"What?" asked Warrick. "That's horrible."

"Yeah, but, I'm not going to stress you with my whole sad, sorry tale of woe and misery," said Sara. A tear had slid silently down her cheek. Warrick quickly wiped it away with the pad of him thumb.

Sara looked up at him, mouth open. Without realizing it, she leaned in closer and closer and didn't realize their proximity until their lips brushed. But even then, she didn't pull away.

"Do you mind if I kiss you?" asked Sara.

"Are you always this polite?" asked Warrick.

Taking this as a 'yes', Sara leaned in and gently captured his lips in a quick, sweet, passionate kiss that could have lasted for ever, for all she cared.

"Hellooooo?!" they heard from the other side of the door. "Warrick? What's going on?"

Sara pulled away in shock.

"She's awake, Catherine," said Warrick, whom had completely forgotten about the frantic blond who stood outside the door.

"Yeah, thanks a whole helluva lot for telling me!" then in a softer voice, "How're you doing Sara?"

"I'm fine, thanks," said Sara. "And my hands are itching to strangle Greg."

"Oh, you'll get your moment," said Catherine. "Here he comes now…"

They heard mumbling from the other side of the door, then…


"Poor, poor Greg," said Sara. "I knew ye well…"


The was a clanging noise, then the doors to the room opened. Sara's mouth opened in aw. I was like the river parting for Moses.

"You could have gotten us out of here the whole time?!" asked Sara, after sprinting out of the room as though it was filled with snakes.

"I thought it was broken…" said Catherine.

"Did it ever occur to you to try the handle?" asked Sara, fuming.

"No," said the very frightened blond.

"ARG!" roared Sara. "I work with a bunch of idiots!"

"Calm down, Sara," Warrick said.

"But, babe!" Sara whined. "It's their fault all of this happened!"

"Babe?" exploded both Greg and Catherine at the same time. "How? When? Where?"

"In order?" said Sara. "I passed out, in there, just now."

Greg, now smirking, said, "So some thing good did come out of this?"

"Yes," said Sara. "But, I'm still gonna wring your neck till you don't breath, then throw you over the Hoover dam."

Catherine sniggered.

"You're next, blondie," said Sara, pointing a threatening hand ion Catherine's direction.

Catherine gulped.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me," said Sara. "I am going home, taking a shower, and curling up on my couch with a big bowl of pop corn and a romance novel. Good bye."

"Need company?' asked Warrick, following her out of the room.

Sara grinned to herself. Maybe Greg's death would be postponed until...next week…




A/N: I couldn't think of a better end, so, TAH DAH!

This is what happens when I'm board. Some people write parodys, some people read books, but, me, I write Swarick stories where Sara and Warrick are trapped in random rooms!

Oh, and, happy bleated Thanksgiving, my fellow Americans!