Title: Gun Safety
By: Jesika
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Warning: deals with non-con, suicide, character death
Summary: Some images are harder to get rid of than others, Greg realizes that when he witnesses his first child rape/murder case. Told from Greg's POV.

***

It's amazing how easily one can get a gun these days. Five day waiting period, it's pointless when you're in law enforcement, or close enough to being in it anyways. Of course before they'll allow you to carry a gun, it's a requirement to take a gun safety course, to learn what not to do to ensure yours, and other's safety.

Safety on. Safety Off.

It took a while for me to get around to completing the course, not because I wasn't capable of it, or because I'm not good at handling guns, but because I was afraid.

Although I've only been a CSI for a short while, I've been working in the lab long enough to see the damage a gun can inflict on someone. It can tear skulls open, shred the inside's of it's victims, it can cause tears, and pain, and hate. It can take some of the most innocent kids away from their families, their friends, and turn people against each other.

Safety on.

But I've also seen it provide sweet release to those who can't accept their lives anymore, their place in society. Those who have turned it on themselves, chose the least painful way out, realizing that there's not much more they can provide to those around them, or themselves. It's given them an escape.

Safety Off.

Yesterday I saw a man turn a gun on himself, watched him take his own life not even twenty feet in front of me. I might have done him the honors had my gun been on me at the time, because he didn't deserve the escape. He deserved to live for eternity with the rape and murder of six innocent kids on his conscience, to wake up every morning behind bars and remember why he's there, see the faces of the innocent.

He probably wouldn't have made it far in prison though, because if there's one thing they don't accept there, it's child rapists and child killers. It still amazes me how the most cold blooded criminals can still find a place in their heart for the innocence of the young.

Safety on.

I was excited about doing my first solo when Grissom gave me the case for a missing child. It was supposed to be simple really, the father had taken his child during his monthly custody visits, and never returned. All signs pointed that he was still in Vegas, and that he was simply hiding out.

Before we really had even gotten a chance to talk to the mother of the missing child, the husband called, told her he was sorry and that he just wanted a few extra days to visit with his son. Vega talked to the husband and got his location, told him to remain there until we got there to pick up the kid.

I felt good that my first solo turned out to be something so simple, something that didn't even involve forensics at all, but that was until we reached the father's location, his son's daycare. Bodies of young children were laying around in pools of their own blood, some of them nude, some of them tied up. The father was sitting on the porch when we got there, said his son was inside taking a nap.

Safety Off.

The guy didn't seem phased by his actions, he just sat on the porch while I stood several feet away, puking my guts out. I could feel blood on my hands even though I never touched the bodies, see those innocent, lifeless eyes staring at me in a mask of fear. I'll never get that image out of my head, their faces will never go away.

Hammer back.

Grissom pulled up not even twenty minutes later with the rest of the team, their kits gripped tightly in their hands, preparing themselves for what's already been labeled as a massacre.

The father was in hand cuffs inside a police car as I sat on the ground on the side of the house, trying to keep from dry heaving again. I was vaguely aware of the tears tracking down my cheeks, and no one seemed to notice me until Nick was sent to do the perimeter, Grissom keeping him from going inside due to his track record with child abuse cases such as this.

He tried saying something to me, but I couldn't pull my gaze away from the father, sitting emotionless in the back seat of the squad car.

I don't even remember how it happened, how he got the gun that took his own life. I just remember watching them try and move him from one police car to another for transport, and then all chaos ensued. He was a ticking time bomb.

Cold metal against the temple.

They took me to the hospital shortly after, said I was in shock, but nothing made sense to me, I just couldn't get the images of those kids out of my head, the blood off my skin. Nick said I was screaming, something intelligible; I don't remember ever opening my mouth.

They released me this morning, put Nick on to babysit me until I'm "emotionally stable" again, but he fell asleep hours ago. He too can't get the images of dead children out of his head, even though he didn't see the blood bath first hand.

Everyone was too busy running samples on the case to notice as I walked into the lab a short time ago, or I was too numb to notice anyone staring at me as I made my way to the locker room, vaguely aware of how empty it was.

Eyes closed.

I never noticed how heavy a gun was until I pulled it out of my locker, emptied the clip so there was only one bullet left in the chamber. Never noticed until I walked with it by my side into an empty shower cubicle and slid down the wall. It's easier to wash away the blood.

Breath catching.

Some people use a gun to inflict physical and emotional harm to others, watch it tear them and their loved ones apart. Some use it to end their own pain, put a stop to something they feel is useless, something that's not worth continuing.

I use it to erase the images of dead children.

Trigger pulled.

***