Title: Harlequin
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Table: Horror, mission_insane
Prompt: 6, Mask
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg got out of his car, almost wishing that he didn't have to go into his own home. Even though there were police cars patrolling the area and watching carefully for any signs of disturbance, he still felt strange every time he walked through his own front door.

He hated feeling this uncomfortable in his own personal space, but after finding that disturbing note left in his bedroom, he couldn't help feeling a chill every time he came home. It had only been two days since he'd found that note, and he was already a nervous wreck.

His hand trembled slightly as he pulled out his keys, fumbling for the one that fit into the lock on the front door. He shouldn't feel so shaky about simply coming home from work, he admonished himself. There were cops just outside, the unmarked car conspicuous at the edge of the parking lot.

They'd stay there until Greg gave them the all-clear; if he didn't do that within five minutes, they would come to the apartment, guns drawn. Brass had insisted on that; he wasn't going to let anyone who worked for the crime lab be harmed on his watch.

But he couldn't have cops watching the apartment on a twenty-four-hour basis, Greg told himself, his hand faltering as he fit the key into the lock. There would be times when he would be alone, exposed, vulnerable to the person who was stalking him.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and pushed the door open. And if that was the case, then he would have to protect himself. He wasn't helpless; he was a CSI, and he'd been trained in self-defense. He might not carry a gun, but he could take care of himself.

Not that he'd done such a great job of that so far, Greg thought with a wry twist of his lips. He hadn't had a clue that he was being stalked; if his unwanted "admirer" hadn't started to get bolder with the notes, he'd never have known the man was inside his house.

He shuddered at the idea of finding yet another note in his bed -- or finding his stalker there instead. That was something he didn't want to think about; he didn't like the idea that someone was even watching him, much less gaining admittance to the private sanctum of his home.

Greg stepped into his apartment and turned to the keypad by the door, rapidly turning off the alarm. The beeps that told him the alarm was off rang out; he closed his eyes, letting out the breath he'd been holding. If the alarm was doing that, then no one had been here.

He'd almost expected the beeps not to sound, telling him that his stalker had managed to get back into his home and might even still be here. But the three beeps told him that he was safe and protected behind the walls of his home, at least for the moment.

All he wanted to do right now was to take a shower and go to bed; it had been a long shift last night, and he felt wrung out. The heat of a Vegas summer wasn't helping, either; even working at night, when the sun was down, he felt as though he'd spent time baking in an oven.

Heading down the hall towards his bedroom, Greg couldn't hold back a smile. The heat was the least of his worries at the moment, but at least that gave him something to concentrate on other than the fact that his life was being disrupted by someone who scared the hell out of him.

This wasn't the time to think about his stalker, he told himself firmly. He was safe at home, behind closed doors, and there had been no sign of the mysterious man who was watching him. He might not be able to feel this safe tomorrow, but at least he could relax for the rest of today.

As he entered his bedroom and glanced towards his bed, that thought flew out of Greg's mind. For a few moments, he couldn't move or breathe; if he had tried to make a sound, nothing would have come out. All he could do was stand there, frozen, staring at his pillow.

There was a small white mask on his pillow, a harlequin mask that he'd seen kids wearing on Halloween. It was turned slightly, as though it was facing towards the door, waiting for him to come home and see it so that it could look him directly in the eye.

For one panicked moment, Greg could have sworn that the mask was watching him, that there was someone behind the empty slits of those eyes, regarding him with a catlike smile on their face. He was sure that he was being observed, even though there was no one else in the room.

Greg leaned against the door frame, feeling as though his knees had turned to jelly. No one was watching him, he was sure of that. No one was in the apartment; he would have felt any unwanted presence when he'd walked down the hallway to his bedroom.

But he couldn't help feeling as though he'd been violated; his home had been invaded yet again -- and this time, the perpetrator had known how to get around the alarm. Somehow, they'd gotten in here and left that harlequin mask on the bed without the alarm going off.

If they could do something like that without being detected, what else could they manage to do? Greg had to suppress another shudder as all kinds of thoughts flashed through his mind within a few seconds, each of them more gory and disturbing than the last.

He couldn't stay in his own home any more, that was obvious. He'd thought that he would be safe here if there were patrols, even though Brass and the rest of the CSI team had wanted him to stay in a hotel with police protection. He'd gone out of his way to talk them out of it.

But now, he could no longer feel safe in his own home. All he could do was pack a bag and call Brass, tell him that the stalker had left yet another "gift" and that he'd have to stay in a hotel. He felt far too vulnerable to be alone now, even in the relative safety of his apartment.

Greg moved forward slowly, not wanting to touch the mask, but feeling that he had to. He needed to examine it, to find out if it was nothing more than what it looked like -- or if there was a more sinister intent behind it than simply trying to frighten him.

His hand trembled as he reached out to pick up the mask, almost expecting it to explode in his hand, or even simply melt away, as though it was a figment of his imagination. But he knew that it wasn't; it was all too real, and its mere presence made it terrifying.

At the last moment, he snatched his hand back, not wanting to touch the mask. There could be something on it that might react to contact with his skin; it could be poisoned in some way, and he wasn't going to risk touching it until he knew that it wasn't harmful.

Backing out of his bedroom, he closed the door, then headed back down the hallway to the living room. He pulled out his cell phone, his hands still shaking as he hit the speed dial that he'd put Brass' number on when all of this had first started.

He hadn't been nearly so scared then. But everything had escalated at what felt like a rapid rate. He felt like he was on a carousel, being borne along by chance. No matter how hard he struggled to keep up with the pace his stalker was setting, he still felt as though he was being helplessly dragged along.

He had to stop that forward motion, had to keep himself protected from whatever the person who had left that eerie mask on his bed had planned for him. And the only way that he could do that was to go into hiding, whether he liked the idea or not.

It felt like he was running away -- but it wasn't as though he had a choice, Greg told himself with a soft sigh. If he stayed in plain sight, then it would just make it all the easier for his stalker to know where he was, and to track him down whenever the fancy took him.

He should have probably hidden himself away when this all started, but he'd thought that he could handle it, and that it was just a game that his stalker would tire of. But that didn't seem likely now -- not if he was going to keep breaking into Greg's home and leaving things behind.

Greg closed his eyes when he heard Jim Brass' voice on the line; he took a deep breath before he began to haltingly explain what had happened, looking around his living room as he did so. He had a feeling that it would be a while before he would be able to feel comfortable in his own home again.

***