Author: BuffyAngel68
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: FRM for dark themes and eventual graphic descriptions of rape and assault.
Summary: The unluckiest man in Vegas can't catch a break, but this time he may end up broken for good.
Disclaimer: You know I don't own them or the network. If I did several of the male characters would be shacked up together already and we'd be seeing it on screen at least every other week!
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For the tenth time that night, Gil Grissom looked up at the sound of footsteps passing his door, but, once again, it wasn't the person he wanted to see and he was beginning to get concerned. His brow furrowed momentarily then smoothed again as he tuned back in to his work. He knew the others would worry as well if they saw even a trace of it on his face and he couldn't let them get distracted.
{Where the hell is he?}
Since surviving the brunt of a devastating lab explosion, He knew Greg Sanders had been more wary at work and a more enthusiastic partier outside it, but he'd remained steady, fast and reliable and had given his boss no real reason to question him. Suddenly, his steadfast, brilliant DNA tech was a no-show for his shift, and Grissom was wondering if he'd missed something he should have been picking up on all along.
"Gris. You seen Greg tonight?"
Gil glanced up at the tall man standing in his doorway and responded calmly.
"Not yet, Nick."
"He's an hour an' a half late. That ain't like him."
"Did anyone try his house?"
"No answer and his cell's either outta range or dead."
"You know he's been more inclined to... celebrate life lately. He's fine."
"Maybe, but the job's more important to him than any party. He takes it seriously and he's never missed a shift. He even came back from med-leave a week early after the lab...."
"Nick. I understand your concern, but...."
Gil let his sentence trail off when Cpt. Brass stepped up behind Nick, his face a study in fear and tension. "What is it?"
"Did the hippie come in tonight?"
"You mean Greg."
The mild reprimand was absent from Grissom's voice, but Brass saw it in the other man's eyes clearly enough.
"Sorry. Yeah, I mean Greg."
"No. We were just discussing the fact that he's late. Why?"
"I just got a call..."
"Yeah? C'mon, man. Spit it out." Nick encouraged, half- turning to the cop and backing into the office to give him a little more personal space.
"I...God."
Brass ran a hand over his face, drew and expelled a deep breath and tried again. "A janitor was cleaning up in a club down on the strip... gettin' ready to open up. He found a guy on the men's room floor.... stripped, unconscious, bruised to hell an' back...."
Grissom stood up, his body suddenly as tense as his friend's
expression.
"And?"
"The vic's wallet was gone, but the description.... it sounds like it could be Sanders."
Gil abruptly leaned forward, bracing himself on the desk with one hand. Nick blanched, stumbled another step or two backwards and forced out a negation of what he'd just heard.
"Uh-uh. It's not him."
"Somebody needs to go confirm that." Grissom reminded them, slipping quickly from 'shocked friend' back into 'supervisor handing out assignments'. Part of him wanted to stay the former, but he knew if something really had happened, catching the criminal meant divorcing himself from his emotions, at least for the moment. "Nick, take Catherine and go have a look. Whichever way it turns out..."
"I'll call ASAP. It isn't him, Boss. It can't be. With the explosion, he's had enough to deal with. God wouldn't...."
"God has nothing to do with it. Go."
"Gone."
Nick sped off down the hall, running as if Satan were on his heels. Brass followed, but much more slowly. He usually got his bad- news hunches in the pit of his stomach and that spot was telling him to delay this revelation as long as possible. He grimaced and swore silently. He had begun to respect and even like Greg Sanders. The kid
was super-smart, exceptionally good at his job and, on occasion, funnier than hell. He didn't deserve anymore pain... "Hey, get a move on!" Nick yelled, interrupting the other man's thoughts. "You're the one that knows which ER we're goin' to!"
"You go find Cath. I'll meet you outside."
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TWENTY MINUTES LATER:
Striding purposefully up to the emergency room admitting desk, badge already in his hand, Nick Stokes showed the small wallet to the duty nurse. Catherine Willows and Captain Brass approached as well, but gave the intense younger man space.
"We're here about the assault victim that was found in the club."
"Of course. Let me get the doctor..."
"No time for that. We need to see this guy now."
"He's been badly hurt. I'm not sure any of you will be allowed in, never mind all of you, but it isn't my call." The woman insisted. Nick closed his eyes, breathed deeply and made another, calmer, attempt.
"Look... this vic.... he could be a friend.... somebody we work with. If we could just see if it's him or not...."
"I'm sorry. I understand that you're upset, but his doctor's not far away. Wait here and I'll be right back."
As the nurse hurried off, Catherine turned, locked her hands behind her and leaned against the counter, studying the floor. Nick began pacing a short route back and forth in front of her and an increasingly angry Brass. Thankfully for the three colleagues, the nurse was back within a few minutes followed by an older man.
"Hey, doc. Nick Stokes from the Vegas Crime Lab. These are my coworkers. What can you tell us about this assault victim?"
"Not a great deal. He's young, mid twenties maybe. Dark hair and eyes. Some older scarring on his back and ribcage. His ID was missing and he's catatonic so we have no clue as to his name yet. I take it you think you can help with that?"
"We hope not." Catherine responded somberly. "The description sounded familiar, but..."
"Of course. You'll be allowed to go in and see him Miss..."
"Willows."
"Scott Denson. As I was saying, you'll be allowed to go in and see him for a short while, but the two men will have to stay out here."
"What? Why?" Nick protested.
"He was viciously gang raped, Mister Stokes. The only time this unfortunate young man breaks his catatonia is when another man steps into his line of sight, at which point he starts screaming and trying to simultaneously escape the room and claw his way out of his own skin."
Nick flushed and he clamped his lips tightly together, trying to control his rising nausea. Brass spoke instead.
"I get it. We'll hang back. Cath, can you handle this alone?"
"I have to. We have to know...."
"Yeah. How... how bad is he hurt, doc?"
"His external injuries are minor; a lot of severe bruising confined to his hips and thighs, some scratches and abrasions on his face, arms and hands. Internally it's a different story. He'll require surgery to repair some of the damage. We've got him on antibiotics just in case, but there doesn't appear anything life threatening. Physically, he'll be alright in a week or two."
Easily reading in their faces that it wasn't the physical damage they were truly worried about, the doctor stayed silent on how long repairing the young victim's mind might take. When there were no more immediate questions from the shell-shocked trio, he waved an arm and Catherine preceded him to the curtained off area where the unknown victim lay.
Denson swept the fabric aside, taking care to remain hidden. Peering inside, Catherine Willows, the tough, unshakeable woman who had endured and witnessed more than most people would see in a lifetime of experience, dissolved into silent tears.
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"Greg...." finally emerged from Catherine's throat, despite how it was trying to lock down and choke her. She made a motion as if to run to his side, but stopped herself at the last minute, choosing instead to back away temporarily. She needed time to reclaim control of her emotions and she also knew the others were waiting for her to return. Pivoting on one heel, she stumbled back to where Nick and Brass waited at the desk. Neither man needed her forced words to comprehend the truth; her expression told them everything, but they held her up and let her speak them anyway.
"It... it is him. It's Greg... God, Nicky.... he's.... he looks so lost.... his eyes...."
"Damn...." Nick murmured over her shoulder as he supported her. "Brass... can you stay with her for a minute? I told Grissom I'd call...."
"Yeah, of course."
"Tell the doc we'll get him everything he needs.... medical records, all that.... it may take a couple hours, but..."
"I understand. Go on.... let Gil know what's up. Unless I get a major 911, I'll be here as long as I'm needed."
"Thanks...." Nick responded numbly, walking away and pulling out his cell. The first two tries at calling work failed as the digits wouldn't order themselves in his mind, but after a break to force himself to focus the third attempt succeeded.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab. Gil Grissom speaking."
"Boss.... it's me."
"That's not relief I hear in your voice, is it?"
"I wish it was. The vic in the club... it was Greg."
"How is he?"
"On the outside, he's not hurt real bad, mostly bruises. Inside.... they really messed him up."
"He was assaulted, then."
"Yeah.... more than once. He's gonna need surgery, but they've got him on anti-biotics and the doctor says he's not.... he says he'll be okay in a week or two."
"In body, not in spirit."
"Yeah, well, let's get him through the first part. The rest can wait. You'll let Warrick and Sara know?"
"Immediately. You want to stay, I assume."
"If it's do-able. Even if they won't let me be in there with him, I'd feel like an ass if I had to leave the hospital completely."
"I don't understand. If you haven't seen him how do you know...."
"Catherine ID'd him. He can't stand to have men around him right now.... the doc said he goes crazy. It's the only time he knows the world is still there, I guess."
"Catatonic.... of course. He has every right to pull away from the world. Look what it did to him. Stay as long as you want. I'll see that you both get credit for your full shift tonight. I'm sure the others will be over after work so you and Cath can get some food and sleep."
"Like I said, they won't let Warrick in. Might as well let him go home."
"Even if he can't be there for Greg he'll want to be there for you. So will I."
"Thanks... look, I gotta go. Catherine..."
"I understand. We'll be there in a few hours. Try to hang on, alright? And Nick...."
"Yeah?"
"When you're feeling stronger, secure the rape kit. It could be the only way we'll get the bastards."
Nick's eyebrows drifted up at Grissom's extremely rare use of a curse-
word.
"I don't even know if they've been able to do one yet, but I hear you
loud and clear, boss."
"Good. See you in a while."
"Okay, Bye."
As he disconnected the call, Nick spotted Catherine emerging from the ladies room wiping her mouth on a paper towel. He strode to meet her and drew her into an easy embrace.
"You called Gris?"
"Yeah. He's gonna fill in Sara and Warrick. They'll all be here after shift."
"How did he react?"
"He said a bad word."
This revelation pulled a brief laugh from Catherine. The good humor didn't last long, but it helped to lighten her heart a little.
"He never swears. What was it? I can't imagine him going much beyond damn."
"Nah, you shoulda heard it. He actually said bastards." Nick chuckled.
"He did not! In what context?"
Her comforter instantly sobered again.
"He was reminding me about chain of evidence."
"The rape kit."
"Yeah. Might be our best and only evidence if Greg stays the way he is."
Catherine buried her head in his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Shit." she remarked softly, but vehemently.
"Don't you start. Grissom violating his language principles is bad enough."
"Start? You wait until I get my hands on the depraved pieces of filth that did this. Then you'll hear some *real* swearing, I promise you that..."
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Grissom didn't have to search very hard to find his other two field agents. They were both in the break room just pouring cups of coffee when he entered. The look on his face got them both to abandon their mugs and turn their full attention on him.
"What is it? You look like somebody ran over the cast of Disney on Ice with a zamboni." Sara commented. The tall, slender black man next to her cast a harsh glare in her direction. "What?"
"You've both probably noticed Greg isn't here tonight."
"Yeah. Is he okay? Nothing happened, right?" Warrick asked, suddenly worried.
"Unfortunately, it did. He was found a few hours ago in the men's room of a club on the strip. Nick just called from the hospital. Greg's been sexually assaulted.... multiple times according to the doctor that's overseeing his care."
Sara blanched and fumbled for the sofa behind her, finally managing to sink down onto it.
"No.... No way. I don't believe it....'
Clearing his throat, Warrick found his voice at last.
"He isn't.... I mean, he's gonna be alright."
"He needs some surgery to repair the damage that was done, but other than that and a few bruises, the doctor seems to think he'll be fine."
"That's his body. What about his head?" Sara asked.
"He's totally unresponsive to women, terrified of men. Makes sense considering what he's been through. I told Nick and Catherine we'd relieve them after the shift is over so they can eat and get some sleep."
"Yeah.... yeah, of course I'll be there."
"Me too. No question. Greg.... damn. He's the last person on earth who deserves to get jumped like that. He's just a kid...." Warrick mumbled half to himself and half to the room in general as he dropped down beside Sara.
"Lucky for you I anticipated your needing something to take your minds off this. Landlord found the body of one of his tenants lying on the lawn. It's our job to find out how he ended up there." Grissom informed them, handing them both thin folders before he turned and exited the room.
"How can he be that way? How can anybody be so cold about someone they know getting raped?"
Warrick tossed his colleague a repeat of the disapproving glower and rose from his seat.
"How can you be so holier-than-thou and judgmental? He feels it as much as any of us do, Sara. He just can't afford to let it show, 'cause right now he has to keep it together and keep this place running. You obviously don't get that. That's why you'll never be the boss." Warrick responded curtly, stalking out and leaving Sara with her jaw on the floor and his angry words ringing in her ears.
-------------------------------
"Cath, you don't have to go back in."
"Yeah, I do. Maybe if I keep telling him he's safe and he isn't alone.... he'll realize it's okay to come back to us."
"You sure? The way you reacted before...." Brass asked, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
"The first look at what they did to him was a shock, that's all. He needs me."
"We'll be right out here in the waiting room.... when *you* need *us*."
"I know. Thanks."
Turning, Catherine slowly made her way back to the exam area, slipped inside the curtain and pulled up a chair close to the bed where Greg lay, his position unchanged since the last time she'd seen him. Lifting his chilly hands into hers, she began to caress them gently, hoping to warm them, and by extension, revive the rest of him.
"Greg? It's me, Catherine. You're okay, now, I swear you are. You're in the hospital and you're safe. Look at me, Greg. You don't have to talk if it's too hard. Please, just look at me...."
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"It... it is him. It's Greg... God, Nicky.... he's.... he looks so lost.... his eyes...."
"Damn...." Nick murmured over her shoulder as he supported her. "Brass... can you stay with her for a minute? I told Grissom I'd call...."
"Yeah, of course."
"Tell the doc we'll get him everything he needs.... medical records, all that.... it may take a couple hours, but..."
"I understand. Go on.... let Gil know what's up. Unless I get a major 911, I'll be here as long as I'm needed."
"Thanks...." Nick responded numbly, walking away and pulling out his cell. The first two tries at calling work failed as the digits wouldn't order themselves in his mind, but after a break to force himself to focus the third attempt succeeded.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab. Gil Grissom speaking."
"Boss.... it's me."
"That's not relief I hear in your voice, is it?"
"I wish it was. The vic in the club... it was Greg."
"How is he?"
"On the outside, he's not hurt real bad, mostly bruises. Inside.... they really messed him up."
"He was assaulted, then."
"Yeah.... more than once. He's gonna need surgery, but they've got him on anti-biotics and the doctor says he's not.... he says he'll be okay in a week or two."
"In body, not in spirit."
"Yeah, well, let's get him through the first part. The rest can wait. You'll let Warrick and Sara know?"
"Immediately. You want to stay, I assume."
"If it's do-able. Even if they won't let me be in there with him, I'd feel like an ass if I had to leave the hospital completely."
"I don't understand. If you haven't seen him how do you know...."
"Catherine ID'd him. He can't stand to have men around him right now.... the doc said he goes crazy. It's the only time he knows the world is still there, I guess."
"Catatonic.... of course. He has every right to pull away from the world. Look what it did to him. Stay as long as you want. I'll see that you both get credit for your full shift tonight. I'm sure the others will be over after work so you and Cath can get some food and sleep."
"Like I said, they won't let Warrick in. Might as well let him go home."
"Even if he can't be there for Greg he'll want to be there for you. So will I."
"Thanks... look, I gotta go. Catherine..."
"I understand. We'll be there in a few hours. Try to hang on, alright? And Nick...."
"Yeah?"
"When you're feeling stronger, secure the rape kit. It could be the only way we'll get the bastards."
Nick's eyebrows drifted up at Grissom's extremely rare use of a curse-
word.
"I don't even know if they've been able to do one yet, but I hear you
loud and clear, boss."
"Good. See you in a while."
"Okay, Bye."
As he disconnected the call, Nick spotted Catherine emerging from the ladies room wiping her mouth on a paper towel. He strode to meet her and drew her into an easy embrace.
"You called Gris?"
"Yeah. He's gonna fill in Sara and Warrick. They'll all be here after shift."
"How did he react?"
"He said a bad word."
This revelation pulled a brief laugh from Catherine. The good humor didn't last long, but it helped to lighten her heart a little.
"He never swears. What was it? I can't imagine him going much beyond damn."
"Nah, you shoulda heard it. He actually said bastards." Nick chuckled.
"He did not! In what context?"
Her comforter instantly sobered again.
"He was reminding me about chain of evidence."
"The rape kit."
"Yeah. Might be our best and only evidence if Greg stays the way he is."
Catherine buried her head in his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Shit." she remarked softly, but vehemently.
"Don't you start. Grissom violating his language principles is bad enough."
"Start? You wait until I get my hands on the depraved pieces of filth that did this. Then you'll hear some *real* swearing, I promise you that..."
------------------------------------
Grissom didn't have to search very hard to find his other two field agents. They were both in the break room just pouring cups of coffee when he entered. The look on his face got them both to abandon their mugs and turn their full attention on him.
"What is it? You look like somebody ran over the cast of Disney on Ice with a zamboni." Sara commented. The tall, slender black man next to her cast a harsh glare in her direction. "What?"
"You've both probably noticed Greg isn't here tonight."
"Yeah. Is he okay? Nothing happened, right?" Warrick asked, suddenly worried.
"Unfortunately, it did. He was found a few hours ago in the men's room of a club on the strip. Nick just called from the hospital. Greg's been sexually assaulted.... multiple times according to the doctor that's overseeing his care."
Sara blanched and fumbled for the sofa behind her, finally managing to sink down onto it.
"No.... No way. I don't believe it....'
Clearing his throat, Warrick found his voice at last.
"He isn't.... I mean, he's gonna be alright."
"He needs some surgery to repair the damage that was done, but other than that and a few bruises, the doctor seems to think he'll be fine."
"That's his body. What about his head?" Sara asked.
"He's totally unresponsive to women, terrified of men. Makes sense considering what he's been through. I told Nick and Catherine we'd relieve them after the shift is over so they can eat and get some sleep."
"Yeah.... yeah, of course I'll be there."
"Me too. No question. Greg.... damn. He's the last person on earth who deserves to get jumped like that. He's just a kid...." Warrick mumbled half to himself and half to the room in general as he dropped down beside Sara.
"Lucky for you I anticipated your needing something to take your minds off this. Landlord found the body of one of his tenants lying on the lawn. It's our job to find out how he ended up there." Grissom informed them, handing them both thin folders before he turned and exited the room.
"How can he be that way? How can anybody be so cold about someone they know getting raped?"
Warrick tossed his colleague a repeat of the disapproving glower and rose from his seat.
"How can you be so holier-than-thou and judgmental? He feels it as much as any of us do, Sara. He just can't afford to let it show, 'cause right now he has to keep it together and keep this place running. You obviously don't get that. That's why you'll never be the boss." Warrick responded curtly, stalking out and leaving Sara with her jaw on the floor and his angry words ringing in her ears.
-------------------------------
"Cath, you don't have to go back in."
"Yeah, I do. Maybe if I keep telling him he's safe and he isn't alone.... he'll realize it's okay to come back to us."
"You sure? The way you reacted before...." Brass asked, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
"The first look at what they did to him was a shock, that's all. He needs me."
"We'll be right out here in the waiting room.... when *you* need *us*."
"I know. Thanks."
Turning, Catherine slowly made her way back to the exam area, slipped inside the curtain and pulled up a chair close to the bed where Greg lay, his position unchanged since the last time she'd seen him. Lifting his chilly hands into hers, she began to caress them gently, hoping to warm them, and by extension, revive the rest of him.
"Greg? It's me, Catherine. You're okay, now, I swear you are. You're in the hospital and you're safe. Look at me, Greg. You don't have to talk if it's too hard. Please, just look at me...."
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TWO HOURS LATER:
Forced out of the exam area and away from Greg's side by female medical staff, Catherine clung to Nick, dozing off and on as they huddled together in the waiting area. The group now attending to Greg was simultaneously gathering evidence of his assault, replacing his empty IV with a fresh one and preparing him for transfer to a private room upstairs. He had remained silent and utterly still throughout all the procedures, sunk fathoms deep in a world of his own making; a world not even Catherine had been able to entice him out of, though she had tried until her voice nearly deserted her.
"I'm sorry." she rasped, wincing slightly at the ache in her raw throat.
"For what?" Nick asked quietly, gazing down at his co-worker.
"I'm usually stronger than this. I've never been somebody who just.. falls apart at a moment's notice."
"Moment's notice? How long were you in there, an hour, hour and a half? And we were here for a good half hour before that. You've barely cracked in all that time. You need to break a little, you go ahead an' do it." he reminded her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he slowly, soothingly slid that hand up and down over her bicep, hoping to encourage her to drift off again, but she would not give in to his ministrations.
"You were wrong, you know."
"Wrong about...."
"Greg. He won't stay like this. I got this sense.... I really think he heard everything I was saying, but wherever he went... he feels safer there than here. He'll come back. He just isn't ready yet."
This comment nudged Nick's mind onto somber pathways and, despite knowing he should try to keep the mood positive, he felt the need to voice his troubled thoughts.
"The poor guy.... I can't even try to imagine how scared he musta been. I keep thinkin'... hopin' that whatever peaceful place he's hidin' in now, he made it there before it got too bad for him in the real world...."
Just then, Doctor Denson walked up to where the pair sat with a sheaf of papers in his hands. Praying for any hopeful news, Catherine immediately lifted her head, but the look on the physician's face was anything but cheerful.
"What is it? Is Greg okay?" Nick demanded.
"He'll be stiff and sore, but as I said, physically he'll recover with rest and time."
"Are those the lab results?"
"Yes. There's only one piece of major news to report, really."
"Good or bad?"
"Both." he said, taking the seat across from Nick and passing him the paperwork. "The good part is that he probably won't ever remember the attack. The bad part is the reason *why* he won't remember."
As he read the tox-screen report, Nick's eyes darkened slightly and his anger, faded over the course of hours, resurfaced abruptly. Unable to speak just then, he merely handed the sheets to Catherine, rose and paced a few steps away. When she, too, made the discovery, her face went stark white.
"GHB. Somebody.... he was drugged..... "
"Heavily. More than we normally see in these cases, at least."
"They were desperate to cover their tracks. Will he... what about side effects, reactions...."
"If any were going to show up, I have to believe we'd have seen them by now. There's no guarantee, of course, but, medically, I think I can safely say he's out of the woods. I'm sorry that this is the best news I can bring you at the moment."
Returning, Nick touched he doctor on the shoulder briefly and gave him a grim smile.
"It's okay. You gave us somethin' to work with. Can we keep those reports?"
"Of course. I have the originals. If you need extra copies, just let me know."
"We will. Thanks again, doc."
"No problem."
The moment Denson was out of sight, Nick, visibly trembling with anger he could no longer contain, strode to the nearest wall and slammed his fist into it twice before Catherine could reach him and grab his arm.
"Nick, no! Stop! He said Greg is okay..."
"We don't know that! Some tests take longer, Cath, you know that as well as I do. It could take as much as a week before they know if...."
His point hit Catherine like a punch in the stomach, but she shook it off and continued to try and calm and reassure him.
"No. We can't think like that. The HIV test will be negative. I won't believe anything else." she told him, stroking his arm and hand gently to encourage him to uncurl the fist and let her look at his injury. Too tired to protest, he turned and leaned against an undamaged section of wall, closing his eyes. The first touch of a finger made him flinch and hiss loudly. "Feels like you broke a couple bones."
"Figured... that'll happen when flesh meets lath and plaster. Stupid...."
"Slightly. I can't blame you, though. I've been wanting to do that ever since I saw Greg.... only it wasn't a wall I wanted to hit."
"Didn't look much like a wall to me.... I can't work this investigation, Cath."
"Somebody's got to. It'll be hell for all of us, but...."
"No... you don't get what I'm sayin'. You know my history. I told you about what happened to me. If I have to see the slime that hurt Greg.... if I even have to be in the same room, I'm afraid of my stuff gettin' mixed up with the case. If I lose it an' hurt one of 'em.... it'll screw any chance of them payin' for what they did."
"That's a long time off, Nicky. We haven't even started yet. Right now, you have other things to worry about." She teased lightly, gazing at his bloodied hand.
"Yeah, like the fact that rage temporarily shuts off the male brain." he chuckled, wincing again as she placed his wounded left hand into his right.
"Trust me, anger makes idiots of both genders equally. Stay here, okay? I'll go find somebody to fix that."
Nick nodded and shifted his gaze to the makeshift room where Greg lay. "I won't kill 'em, buddy. I won't even hurt 'em. Not 'till after they're convicted anyway.... then all bets are off."
-------------------------------------
AT THE CRIME-SCENE
"Sara. Sara? You with us?"
"Huh? Yeah... yeah, I'm here, Warrick."
"Okay. I know focus isn't the easiest thing in the world right now, but..."
"Focus isn't a problem. I said I'm here, mind and body."
"Then gimme a prelim."
"No extensive bruising. No visible dents or defects in his head. The body looked positioned, not natural. They'll spot any fractures in post, but with the roof being eight stories up, I doubt that's where he came from."
"Yeah, I gotta agree. One theory down, eight-thousand to go."
"Not necessarily." She corrected, holding up a small plastic evidence bag. He took it from her and examined it closely with his flashlight.
"Tinted glass?"
"It was all over him. I pulled samples from his hair, his ears, his
clothes..."
"Tinted glass like from car windows."
"That's what I was thinking, but if it is, whoever was driving wasn't about to stick around."
Gazing back and forth from the parking lot to the placement of the body on the grass, Warrick frowned.
"You got a tape measure on you?"
"Yeah, sure. What's up?"
With Sara holding one end, Warrick took the other and walked to the edge of the lawn that faced the parking lot.
"Thirty-five feet. And I don't see any tire damage on the grass." He called back to her, making a thorough search. "You think a car could've tossed him that far?"
"Possible, but not likely. And he wouldn't have ended up flat on his back, arms at his sides."
"So he was hit, then dumped?" He posited as he strolled back, rolling up the tape and handing it and the evidence bag back to her.
"Could be. We won't know till we get him back. Hey... how long have we got left on shift?"
"Two hours."
Crouching by the body with a camera, Sara sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face.
"I really hate this. If I didn't know Grissom would kick my ass...."
"Nick and Cath are strong. They can hang in. Besides, Greg's not critical. He's hurt... but he'll be okay. We got work to do here."
"I told Gris I want in on the investigation. I mean.... God, Greg's like my little brother."
"An annoying, freaky kid you think you'll never completely understand?" Warrick joked gently. Sara laughed and swiped at an errant tear with her sleeve.
"Sometimes.... but he's family. Nobody hurts my family without payback."
"Trust me, I'll be right beside you. For now, though..."
"I know, I know. Pictures."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
"Your hand isn't badly damaged, Mister Stokes, but you did break two of the small bones." The nurse informed Nick as she finished drying his cast. He flexed the fingers cautiously and was grateful to find that the pain was more than bearable.
"Yeah, not to mention your wall."
"Not a big deal. Everybody working in the ER tonight understands your motivation, believe me. You'll have to wear this for the next two weeks, but it should heal fine." She told him, gently turning his hand over and checking her work.
"Do you know if they've taken him upstairs yet?"
"A few minutes ago. Your friend went with him. She asked me to tell you that she'd be back down in a little while to let you know his room number."
"Have they scheduled his surgery yet?"
"That I don't know, but I can find out. Hang out here for a minute and get used to that cast. I'll be right back, okay?"
Nick nodded distractedly, studying his hand and flexing the fingers again. When someone stepped in a few minutes later, he looked up in anticipation, but it wasn't the nurse.
"Damn. Hey Gris."
"Nick. What happened?"
"Punched a wall. Twice. Go on, I know you wanna say it. I can see it in your face."
"Say what?"
"That it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done."
"Why restate the obvious? Any more information on Greg?"
"Yeah. That's why I punched the wall. The tox report said he was drugged. GHB."
"Any alcohol in his system?"
Nick frowned, kicking himself for not checking that. Realizing his friend had been so fundamentally betrayed had driven all other considerations out of his mind. He reached for the sheaf of papers beside him and searched them quickly, holding them in his injured hand and turning the pages with the other.
"Not a drop. No booze, no other drugs."
"I didn't expect there would be, but...."
"I didn't even think about it. He may be a little flaky, but he's the best at what he does and he loves doin' it. He'd never risk his job by drinkin' before he came on shift."
"I don't think so either. He's also a veteran at the clubs. He knows the rules."
"Never put your drink down and walk away. Yeah, he does.... God. You're sayin'...."
"Whoever did this was someone he trusted."
"But... he was found by the janitor *before* the club opened. So it's likely nothing happened there."
"Which means he was moved after he passed out. Since Greg can't help us just yet, it's up to us to find out his point of origin."
"Gris.... I'd feel like crap doin' that. He can't consent...."
"We'd do it for any other victim, Nick. Searching his apartment is just another step. It may lead us to who did this."
"He's right, Nicky." Catherine agreed, stepping in to join the other two. "I don't like it much either, but we have to. If he has a day runner or an address book, maybe he wrote something down.... I'll take any lead right now."
"No. What you'll take is eight hours of sleep." Grissom corrected her, touching her arm lightly. "You both need to rest. I'll stay until Sara and Warrick get here. You two go home."
"Gris..." Nick started to protest. His boss shut him down.
"You've done all you can and more than I should have asked of you. Go home."
Nick's expression said he wanted to ruin his good hand in the same manner he'd broken the other one.
"It's not right. We can't leave him alone...."
"He won't be."
"But you can't be in there with him." Catherine reminded him.
"I have a theory about that. I need to talk to the doctor before I test my hypothesis, but I'm hopeful."
"Okay. So, give. What's this theory?"
"It may not be all males that set him off, just ones he isn't familiar with. If even one of the rapists was a stranger to him, he'd consider all male strangers a threat."
"But faces and voices he knows might not trigger the extreme reaction. It makes sense." Catherine agreed.
"I'm glad you think so. Now go home, both of you and get some rest."
Nick chuckled wearily.
"That an order, boss-man?"
"I can make it one, if you like, but it's more like advice."
Nick sighed heavily before looking up at Grissom.
"Soon as the nurse gets back, I'll take it."
She returned just then, smiling gently as she handed Nick a short page of instructions.
"You probably know most of this, but I'm required to give it to you anyway."
Nick favored her with a small smile and recited the two most important parts of the litany an energetic, athletic child learns by heart.
"Don't get it wet, don't use anything too sharp to scratch underneath it. I remember. So when's Greg's surgery?"
"As soon as they can get everything ready and the surgical team arrives. Less than an hour, if it all goes as planned."
"It's that serious, then." Grissom asked tensely.
"I'm afraid so. The doctors don't want to wait much longer to repair the internal damage. Mr. Sanders is stable right now and there's no sign of infection yet, so it's a good time."
"That means he'll be asleep until tomorrow morning at least."
"Probably longer."
Gazing up at his boss, Nick could almost read what his next statement was going to be. He thought about fighting him, but his hand was beginning to ache faintly and he knew Catherine was wiped out, so he surrendered.
"You think we should *all* go home, right?" he asked Grissom.
"We can't do anymore good here."
"Maybe.... okay. But I'm comin' back soon as I wake up tomorrow."
"That's your choice, but I'd rather have you in the field helping us look for the men that did this to Greg."
"No. I already told Cath I can't risk that. When we find 'em my ancient history could get dragged up again. I don't want that clouding my judgment or... or makin' me do somethin' stupid that lets the SOB's walk."
"I understand. We'll talk more about it once you've gotten some sleep. C'mon. I'll drive you both home."
"I have my car..." Catherine began, but her sentence drifted into silence when a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her and she came very close to passing out. Nick was on his feet instantly and had one arm around her back and a hand on her elbow, supporting her weight until she recovered a little. "On second thought... I'll take you up on that offer."
"Good."
Somberly, the three friends trudged out to the parking lot side by side.
------------------------------
THE CRIME SCENE
"Okay. Yeah, that's probably for the best. Alright. Hey, he's got reason.... I know. I'll try, but no guarantees. Nick knows better than we do what he can and can't.... Okay. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Tonight? He's that bad off? Oh.... yeah, that sounds right. Room 521. Got it. We're about done here. See you back at work after you drop Nick and Cath off. Bye."
Warrick folded up his phone and stored it back in his pocket, gazing sadly at Sara as she approached him.
"Grissom?"
"Yeah. He says not to bother with the hospital tonight. He's takin' Catherine and Nick home to get some sleep and he'll meet us back at work."
"Not bother? Why?"
"They're doin' Greg's surgery tonight so he'll be out of it 'till sometime tomorrow."
"Is he okay? He's not going downhill, is he?" Sara asked anxiously.
"Nah. Actually he's pretty stable so the docs figured it was better to do it now instead of waiting. Look, I've been ready to jet for ten minutes. Let's get outta here, okay?"
Sara smiled and stared at Warrick curiously. "What?"
"I've never actually seen you anxious to get *outta* the field. Guess there's a first time for everything."
"Yeah, well the sooner we get this case cleaned up, the sooner Gris will let us in on Greg's."
"True. I want that. I wanna be the one who finds the one piece of evidence that locks up those pieces of garbage for the rest of their lives."
"You an' me an' the rest of CSI."
Sara laughed darkly.
"For once... I don't think I'll begrudge anybody else a little competitive spirit."
"Hell, there is a first time for everything." Warrick teased. Sara smacked him on the shoulder and shoved him lightly toward the SUV.
"You wanted to get going, so go."
----------------------------------
1 HOUR LATER: TRACE
"You got something?" Warrick asked brusquely, striding into the lab.
"Kind of. I can't exactly tell you what the glass off your vic *is*, but I can tell you what it's *not*. It's not from a car. It's way too thin, and it isn't polarized. Maybe hand blown. Also, it's covered in... something. Looks like wax, but I can't be sure yet."
"Wax... okay, that's weird."
"Gets weirder. You've got three distinct colors of glass in the samples you brought me. Red, green and violet. The red and green are probably dead ends, but the violet might just get you somewhere. More difficult to create, not as commonly seen."
Warrick held still, thinking deeply, then looked at the tech again.
"When'll you know if the substance is wax or not?"
"Another half hour. Maybe a little more."
"I'll be here. Page me the minute you get the results."
"Will do. Hey.... is it true? Is Sanders really..."
"Yeah. He's gonna be okay after a while, but he was hurt pretty bad."
"Again? Damn. Not fair."
"My sentiments exactly."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
45 MINUTES LATER
Forced out of the exam area and away from Greg's side by female medical staff, Catherine clung to Nick, dozing off and on as they huddled together in the waiting area. The group now attending to Greg was simultaneously gathering evidence of his assault, replacing his empty IV with a fresh one and preparing him for transfer to a private room upstairs. He had remained silent and utterly still throughout all the procedures, sunk fathoms deep in a world of his own making; a world not even Catherine had been able to entice him out of, though she had tried until her voice nearly deserted her.
"I'm sorry." she rasped, wincing slightly at the ache in her raw throat.
"For what?" Nick asked quietly, gazing down at his co-worker.
"I'm usually stronger than this. I've never been somebody who just.. falls apart at a moment's notice."
"Moment's notice? How long were you in there, an hour, hour and a half? And we were here for a good half hour before that. You've barely cracked in all that time. You need to break a little, you go ahead an' do it." he reminded her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he slowly, soothingly slid that hand up and down over her bicep, hoping to encourage her to drift off again, but she would not give in to his ministrations.
"You were wrong, you know."
"Wrong about...."
"Greg. He won't stay like this. I got this sense.... I really think he heard everything I was saying, but wherever he went... he feels safer there than here. He'll come back. He just isn't ready yet."
This comment nudged Nick's mind onto somber pathways and, despite knowing he should try to keep the mood positive, he felt the need to voice his troubled thoughts.
"The poor guy.... I can't even try to imagine how scared he musta been. I keep thinkin'... hopin' that whatever peaceful place he's hidin' in now, he made it there before it got too bad for him in the real world...."
Just then, Doctor Denson walked up to where the pair sat with a sheaf of papers in his hands. Praying for any hopeful news, Catherine immediately lifted her head, but the look on the physician's face was anything but cheerful.
"What is it? Is Greg okay?" Nick demanded.
"He'll be stiff and sore, but as I said, physically he'll recover with rest and time."
"Are those the lab results?"
"Yes. There's only one piece of major news to report, really."
"Good or bad?"
"Both." he said, taking the seat across from Nick and passing him the paperwork. "The good part is that he probably won't ever remember the attack. The bad part is the reason *why* he won't remember."
As he read the tox-screen report, Nick's eyes darkened slightly and his anger, faded over the course of hours, resurfaced abruptly. Unable to speak just then, he merely handed the sheets to Catherine, rose and paced a few steps away. When she, too, made the discovery, her face went stark white.
"GHB. Somebody.... he was drugged..... "
"Heavily. More than we normally see in these cases, at least."
"They were desperate to cover their tracks. Will he... what about side effects, reactions...."
"If any were going to show up, I have to believe we'd have seen them by now. There's no guarantee, of course, but, medically, I think I can safely say he's out of the woods. I'm sorry that this is the best news I can bring you at the moment."
Returning, Nick touched he doctor on the shoulder briefly and gave him a grim smile.
"It's okay. You gave us somethin' to work with. Can we keep those reports?"
"Of course. I have the originals. If you need extra copies, just let me know."
"We will. Thanks again, doc."
"No problem."
The moment Denson was out of sight, Nick, visibly trembling with anger he could no longer contain, strode to the nearest wall and slammed his fist into it twice before Catherine could reach him and grab his arm.
"Nick, no! Stop! He said Greg is okay..."
"We don't know that! Some tests take longer, Cath, you know that as well as I do. It could take as much as a week before they know if...."
His point hit Catherine like a punch in the stomach, but she shook it off and continued to try and calm and reassure him.
"No. We can't think like that. The HIV test will be negative. I won't believe anything else." she told him, stroking his arm and hand gently to encourage him to uncurl the fist and let her look at his injury. Too tired to protest, he turned and leaned against an undamaged section of wall, closing his eyes. The first touch of a finger made him flinch and hiss loudly. "Feels like you broke a couple bones."
"Figured... that'll happen when flesh meets lath and plaster. Stupid...."
"Slightly. I can't blame you, though. I've been wanting to do that ever since I saw Greg.... only it wasn't a wall I wanted to hit."
"Didn't look much like a wall to me.... I can't work this investigation, Cath."
"Somebody's got to. It'll be hell for all of us, but...."
"No... you don't get what I'm sayin'. You know my history. I told you about what happened to me. If I have to see the slime that hurt Greg.... if I even have to be in the same room, I'm afraid of my stuff gettin' mixed up with the case. If I lose it an' hurt one of 'em.... it'll screw any chance of them payin' for what they did."
"That's a long time off, Nicky. We haven't even started yet. Right now, you have other things to worry about." She teased lightly, gazing at his bloodied hand.
"Yeah, like the fact that rage temporarily shuts off the male brain." he chuckled, wincing again as she placed his wounded left hand into his right.
"Trust me, anger makes idiots of both genders equally. Stay here, okay? I'll go find somebody to fix that."
Nick nodded and shifted his gaze to the makeshift room where Greg lay. "I won't kill 'em, buddy. I won't even hurt 'em. Not 'till after they're convicted anyway.... then all bets are off."
-------------------------------------
AT THE CRIME-SCENE
"Sara. Sara? You with us?"
"Huh? Yeah... yeah, I'm here, Warrick."
"Okay. I know focus isn't the easiest thing in the world right now, but..."
"Focus isn't a problem. I said I'm here, mind and body."
"Then gimme a prelim."
"No extensive bruising. No visible dents or defects in his head. The body looked positioned, not natural. They'll spot any fractures in post, but with the roof being eight stories up, I doubt that's where he came from."
"Yeah, I gotta agree. One theory down, eight-thousand to go."
"Not necessarily." She corrected, holding up a small plastic evidence bag. He took it from her and examined it closely with his flashlight.
"Tinted glass?"
"It was all over him. I pulled samples from his hair, his ears, his
clothes..."
"Tinted glass like from car windows."
"That's what I was thinking, but if it is, whoever was driving wasn't about to stick around."
Gazing back and forth from the parking lot to the placement of the body on the grass, Warrick frowned.
"You got a tape measure on you?"
"Yeah, sure. What's up?"
With Sara holding one end, Warrick took the other and walked to the edge of the lawn that faced the parking lot.
"Thirty-five feet. And I don't see any tire damage on the grass." He called back to her, making a thorough search. "You think a car could've tossed him that far?"
"Possible, but not likely. And he wouldn't have ended up flat on his back, arms at his sides."
"So he was hit, then dumped?" He posited as he strolled back, rolling up the tape and handing it and the evidence bag back to her.
"Could be. We won't know till we get him back. Hey... how long have we got left on shift?"
"Two hours."
Crouching by the body with a camera, Sara sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face.
"I really hate this. If I didn't know Grissom would kick my ass...."
"Nick and Cath are strong. They can hang in. Besides, Greg's not critical. He's hurt... but he'll be okay. We got work to do here."
"I told Gris I want in on the investigation. I mean.... God, Greg's like my little brother."
"An annoying, freaky kid you think you'll never completely understand?" Warrick joked gently. Sara laughed and swiped at an errant tear with her sleeve.
"Sometimes.... but he's family. Nobody hurts my family without payback."
"Trust me, I'll be right beside you. For now, though..."
"I know, I know. Pictures."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
"Your hand isn't badly damaged, Mister Stokes, but you did break two of the small bones." The nurse informed Nick as she finished drying his cast. He flexed the fingers cautiously and was grateful to find that the pain was more than bearable.
"Yeah, not to mention your wall."
"Not a big deal. Everybody working in the ER tonight understands your motivation, believe me. You'll have to wear this for the next two weeks, but it should heal fine." She told him, gently turning his hand over and checking her work.
"Do you know if they've taken him upstairs yet?"
"A few minutes ago. Your friend went with him. She asked me to tell you that she'd be back down in a little while to let you know his room number."
"Have they scheduled his surgery yet?"
"That I don't know, but I can find out. Hang out here for a minute and get used to that cast. I'll be right back, okay?"
Nick nodded distractedly, studying his hand and flexing the fingers again. When someone stepped in a few minutes later, he looked up in anticipation, but it wasn't the nurse.
"Damn. Hey Gris."
"Nick. What happened?"
"Punched a wall. Twice. Go on, I know you wanna say it. I can see it in your face."
"Say what?"
"That it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done."
"Why restate the obvious? Any more information on Greg?"
"Yeah. That's why I punched the wall. The tox report said he was drugged. GHB."
"Any alcohol in his system?"
Nick frowned, kicking himself for not checking that. Realizing his friend had been so fundamentally betrayed had driven all other considerations out of his mind. He reached for the sheaf of papers beside him and searched them quickly, holding them in his injured hand and turning the pages with the other.
"Not a drop. No booze, no other drugs."
"I didn't expect there would be, but...."
"I didn't even think about it. He may be a little flaky, but he's the best at what he does and he loves doin' it. He'd never risk his job by drinkin' before he came on shift."
"I don't think so either. He's also a veteran at the clubs. He knows the rules."
"Never put your drink down and walk away. Yeah, he does.... God. You're sayin'...."
"Whoever did this was someone he trusted."
"But... he was found by the janitor *before* the club opened. So it's likely nothing happened there."
"Which means he was moved after he passed out. Since Greg can't help us just yet, it's up to us to find out his point of origin."
"Gris.... I'd feel like crap doin' that. He can't consent...."
"We'd do it for any other victim, Nick. Searching his apartment is just another step. It may lead us to who did this."
"He's right, Nicky." Catherine agreed, stepping in to join the other two. "I don't like it much either, but we have to. If he has a day runner or an address book, maybe he wrote something down.... I'll take any lead right now."
"No. What you'll take is eight hours of sleep." Grissom corrected her, touching her arm lightly. "You both need to rest. I'll stay until Sara and Warrick get here. You two go home."
"Gris..." Nick started to protest. His boss shut him down.
"You've done all you can and more than I should have asked of you. Go home."
Nick's expression said he wanted to ruin his good hand in the same manner he'd broken the other one.
"It's not right. We can't leave him alone...."
"He won't be."
"But you can't be in there with him." Catherine reminded him.
"I have a theory about that. I need to talk to the doctor before I test my hypothesis, but I'm hopeful."
"Okay. So, give. What's this theory?"
"It may not be all males that set him off, just ones he isn't familiar with. If even one of the rapists was a stranger to him, he'd consider all male strangers a threat."
"But faces and voices he knows might not trigger the extreme reaction. It makes sense." Catherine agreed.
"I'm glad you think so. Now go home, both of you and get some rest."
Nick chuckled wearily.
"That an order, boss-man?"
"I can make it one, if you like, but it's more like advice."
Nick sighed heavily before looking up at Grissom.
"Soon as the nurse gets back, I'll take it."
She returned just then, smiling gently as she handed Nick a short page of instructions.
"You probably know most of this, but I'm required to give it to you anyway."
Nick favored her with a small smile and recited the two most important parts of the litany an energetic, athletic child learns by heart.
"Don't get it wet, don't use anything too sharp to scratch underneath it. I remember. So when's Greg's surgery?"
"As soon as they can get everything ready and the surgical team arrives. Less than an hour, if it all goes as planned."
"It's that serious, then." Grissom asked tensely.
"I'm afraid so. The doctors don't want to wait much longer to repair the internal damage. Mr. Sanders is stable right now and there's no sign of infection yet, so it's a good time."
"That means he'll be asleep until tomorrow morning at least."
"Probably longer."
Gazing up at his boss, Nick could almost read what his next statement was going to be. He thought about fighting him, but his hand was beginning to ache faintly and he knew Catherine was wiped out, so he surrendered.
"You think we should *all* go home, right?" he asked Grissom.
"We can't do anymore good here."
"Maybe.... okay. But I'm comin' back soon as I wake up tomorrow."
"That's your choice, but I'd rather have you in the field helping us look for the men that did this to Greg."
"No. I already told Cath I can't risk that. When we find 'em my ancient history could get dragged up again. I don't want that clouding my judgment or... or makin' me do somethin' stupid that lets the SOB's walk."
"I understand. We'll talk more about it once you've gotten some sleep. C'mon. I'll drive you both home."
"I have my car..." Catherine began, but her sentence drifted into silence when a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her and she came very close to passing out. Nick was on his feet instantly and had one arm around her back and a hand on her elbow, supporting her weight until she recovered a little. "On second thought... I'll take you up on that offer."
"Good."
Somberly, the three friends trudged out to the parking lot side by side.
------------------------------
THE CRIME SCENE
"Okay. Yeah, that's probably for the best. Alright. Hey, he's got reason.... I know. I'll try, but no guarantees. Nick knows better than we do what he can and can't.... Okay. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Tonight? He's that bad off? Oh.... yeah, that sounds right. Room 521. Got it. We're about done here. See you back at work after you drop Nick and Cath off. Bye."
Warrick folded up his phone and stored it back in his pocket, gazing sadly at Sara as she approached him.
"Grissom?"
"Yeah. He says not to bother with the hospital tonight. He's takin' Catherine and Nick home to get some sleep and he'll meet us back at work."
"Not bother? Why?"
"They're doin' Greg's surgery tonight so he'll be out of it 'till sometime tomorrow."
"Is he okay? He's not going downhill, is he?" Sara asked anxiously.
"Nah. Actually he's pretty stable so the docs figured it was better to do it now instead of waiting. Look, I've been ready to jet for ten minutes. Let's get outta here, okay?"
Sara smiled and stared at Warrick curiously. "What?"
"I've never actually seen you anxious to get *outta* the field. Guess there's a first time for everything."
"Yeah, well the sooner we get this case cleaned up, the sooner Gris will let us in on Greg's."
"True. I want that. I wanna be the one who finds the one piece of evidence that locks up those pieces of garbage for the rest of their lives."
"You an' me an' the rest of CSI."
Sara laughed darkly.
"For once... I don't think I'll begrudge anybody else a little competitive spirit."
"Hell, there is a first time for everything." Warrick teased. Sara smacked him on the shoulder and shoved him lightly toward the SUV.
"You wanted to get going, so go."
----------------------------------
1 HOUR LATER: TRACE
"You got something?" Warrick asked brusquely, striding into the lab.
"Kind of. I can't exactly tell you what the glass off your vic *is*, but I can tell you what it's *not*. It's not from a car. It's way too thin, and it isn't polarized. Maybe hand blown. Also, it's covered in... something. Looks like wax, but I can't be sure yet."
"Wax... okay, that's weird."
"Gets weirder. You've got three distinct colors of glass in the samples you brought me. Red, green and violet. The red and green are probably dead ends, but the violet might just get you somewhere. More difficult to create, not as commonly seen."
Warrick held still, thinking deeply, then looked at the tech again.
"When'll you know if the substance is wax or not?"
"Another half hour. Maybe a little more."
"I'll be here. Page me the minute you get the results."
"Will do. Hey.... is it true? Is Sanders really..."
"Yeah. He's gonna be okay after a while, but he was hurt pretty bad."
"Again? Damn. Not fair."
"My sentiments exactly."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
45 MINUTES LATER
"Probably."
"Your anger is justifiable. We're all fighting that right
now, but you can't let it get in the way of your objectivity."
"It won't."
"Good. Nick's already trying to back out of the
investigation. If I can't change his mind, I'll need your clear head
and solid case-work even more. I need to know that you can put aside
your emotions long enough to help me break this case..... to get
justice for Greg."
Sara straightened up, hands rubbing up and down her arms as
if an unpleasantly cool breeze had touched her skin. In Grissom's
eyes she watched the worry and fear surface for a moment before he
submerged them again, and she suddenly knew Warrick had been right;
the emotions were as close to the surface for Gil as for the rest of
them.
now, but you can't let it get in the way of your objectivity."
"It won't."
"Good. Nick's already trying to back out of the
investigation. If I can't change his mind, I'll need your clear head
and solid case-work even more. I need to know that you can put aside
your emotions long enough to help me break this case..... to get
justice for Greg."
Sara straightened up, hands rubbing up and down her arms as
if an unpleasantly cool breeze had touched her skin. In Grissom's
eyes she watched the worry and fear surface for a moment before he
submerged them again, and she suddenly knew Warrick had been right;
the emotions were as close to the surface for Gil as for the rest of
them.
He was simply far more practiced at shunting away everything but what
was relevant in the moment in order to focus and see what others
often missed. At the same time she admired the quality in him, she
acknowledged a crumb of regret at the lack of it in herself.
"You got it. I won't let you down, boss."
"I never doubted that. Good-night, Sara."
"Night."
-----------------------------------
"Night."
-----------------------------------
------------------------------------
CATHERINE:
Two hours after being driven home, Catherine lay in bed,
cursing a brain that simply would not take the hint that it was time
to shut down. The all-too real images of Greg's injuries insisted on
mixing with conjecture from her vivid imagination and the pairing was
slowly driving her insane. She couldn't stop wondering what he'd gone
through and whether the drugs would truly keep him from ever
remembering the assault. His unconscious reaction to men made her
think he remembered every moment, but all she'd heard and read about
GHB seemed to say the opposite. On the other hand, none of the
studies she'd seen had focused on men or male physiology.
Sighing, Catherine sat up and threw the covers off. How could
she not sleep when she was so tired every bone in her body seemed to
ache? Surrendering at last, she headed for the bathroom and the
bottle of over-the-counter sleep aid she kept there but rarely used.
Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed a second time and
brushed disheveled hair away from her face. She gazed a few seconds
longer then drew half a glass of water and downed the pill.
Moving back into her bedroom, she stopped at the small stereo
on her dresser and powered it up, lowering the volume on her favorite
oldies station almost to inaudibility. Despite this, she still caught
a few notes and a word or two as she collapsed into bed again. It was
enough for her to recognize the song, which only brought more
thoughts of Greg, and as she pulled the covers back over her, she
began to softly weep.
*.... if the skies above you turn dark and full of clouds
and that old North wind should begin to blow.
Just keep your head together and call my name out loud, now,
And soon I'll be knockin' upon your door.
You just call out my name,
and you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', oh yes I will,
To see you again....*
--------------------------------
GIL
Water dripping from his cheeks and forehead back into the
men's room sink, Gil reached up blindly to the paper towel dispenser
and retrieved two sheets. Once his face was sufficiently dry, he
looked up and confronted himself in the mirror. What he saw made him
wince internally, though little outward reaction was visible. He had
never been overly vain about his appearance, or at least he would
never admit to what vanity did exist, but he had to admit he vaguely
regretted that he was beginning to look his age.
Turning away from depression inducing contemplations, he left
the rest room and walked back to his office. For a moment, he stood
in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and wondering why he
wasn't at home asleep. The thought process didn't take long to
complete. Sleep led to dreams and his dreams were never pleasant
experiences, therefore he stayed at work and he stayed awake. At
least awake he could somewhat control his mind's ramblings and keep
it from producing depraved pictures of what Greg *might* have gone
through during his attack.
Moving into the room finally, Gil sank down into the chair
behind his desk. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned forward and
interlocked his hands on the desk-top. For the next few minutes, his
face became mobile and expressive and his carefully controlled
emotions were allowed a rare period of freedom as he quietly prayed
for Greg's recovery. When he'd finished, his eyes slipped open again
and the intense passion he considered a pre-requisite for prayer was
tucked back into its hiding place.
Smiling lightly, he leaned sideways and touched the power
button on the small stereo he kept in the office, re-starting
the "Touched By An Angel" soundtrack CD he'd been listening to a few
nights before. He was fully aware that if anyone who thought they
knew him heard him playing this particular music, it would create
confusion and unwanted questions, so he only played it on nights like
this, when fear of sleep led to embracing paperwork and he felt sure
he'd be uninterrupted for a while. The current track was one of his
favorites and as the chorus began, he pulled a file in front of him,
paging through it slowly, taking notes on a pad and tapping his foot
in time to the beautiful, stirring melody.
* For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love.
I'll be the witness in the silences when words are not enough.
With every breath I breathe, I will give thanks to God above.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love....*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
CATHERINE:
Two hours after being driven home, Catherine lay in bed,
cursing a brain that simply would not take the hint that it was time
to shut down. The all-too real images of Greg's injuries insisted on
mixing with conjecture from her vivid imagination and the pairing was
slowly driving her insane. She couldn't stop wondering what he'd gone
through and whether the drugs would truly keep him from ever
remembering the assault. His unconscious reaction to men made her
think he remembered every moment, but all she'd heard and read about
GHB seemed to say the opposite. On the other hand, none of the
studies she'd seen had focused on men or male physiology.
Sighing, Catherine sat up and threw the covers off. How could
she not sleep when she was so tired every bone in her body seemed to
ache? Surrendering at last, she headed for the bathroom and the
bottle of over-the-counter sleep aid she kept there but rarely used.
Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed a second time and
brushed disheveled hair away from her face. She gazed a few seconds
longer then drew half a glass of water and downed the pill.
Moving back into her bedroom, she stopped at the small stereo
on her dresser and powered it up, lowering the volume on her favorite
oldies station almost to inaudibility. Despite this, she still caught
a few notes and a word or two as she collapsed into bed again. It was
enough for her to recognize the song, which only brought more
thoughts of Greg, and as she pulled the covers back over her, she
began to softly weep.
*.... if the skies above you turn dark and full of clouds
and that old North wind should begin to blow.
Just keep your head together and call my name out loud, now,
And soon I'll be knockin' upon your door.
You just call out my name,
and you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', oh yes I will,
To see you again....*
--------------------------------
GIL
Water dripping from his cheeks and forehead back into the
men's room sink, Gil reached up blindly to the paper towel dispenser
and retrieved two sheets. Once his face was sufficiently dry, he
looked up and confronted himself in the mirror. What he saw made him
wince internally, though little outward reaction was visible. He had
never been overly vain about his appearance, or at least he would
never admit to what vanity did exist, but he had to admit he vaguely
regretted that he was beginning to look his age.
Turning away from depression inducing contemplations, he left
the rest room and walked back to his office. For a moment, he stood
in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and wondering why he
wasn't at home asleep. The thought process didn't take long to
complete. Sleep led to dreams and his dreams were never pleasant
experiences, therefore he stayed at work and he stayed awake. At
least awake he could somewhat control his mind's ramblings and keep
it from producing depraved pictures of what Greg *might* have gone
through during his attack.
Moving into the room finally, Gil sank down into the chair
behind his desk. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned forward and
interlocked his hands on the desk-top. For the next few minutes, his
face became mobile and expressive and his carefully controlled
emotions were allowed a rare period of freedom as he quietly prayed
for Greg's recovery. When he'd finished, his eyes slipped open again
and the intense passion he considered a pre-requisite for prayer was
tucked back into its hiding place.
Smiling lightly, he leaned sideways and touched the power
button on the small stereo he kept in the office, re-starting
the "Touched By An Angel" soundtrack CD he'd been listening to a few
nights before. He was fully aware that if anyone who thought they
knew him heard him playing this particular music, it would create
confusion and unwanted questions, so he only played it on nights like
this, when fear of sleep led to embracing paperwork and he felt sure
he'd be uninterrupted for a while. The current track was one of his
favorites and as the chorus began, he pulled a file in front of him,
paging through it slowly, taking notes on a pad and tapping his foot
in time to the beautiful, stirring melody.
* For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love.
I'll be the witness in the silences when words are not enough.
With every breath I breathe, I will give thanks to God above.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love....*
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT:
"Nick?"
Startled out of dark, morose thoughts, Nick Stokes
instinctively batted away the gentle hand on his shoulder and swiftly
rose to his feet, sending his chair skittering toward the wall.
"Grissom. Hey... I'm so sorry. You caught me off-guard."
"No harm done. At least you struck with the un-casted hand."
"Yeah." Nick said, gazing briefly at his injury.
"Preoccupied.... or something else?" Gil asked as he
retrieved the chair and both men sat down.
"Else... I guess. Wishin' I'd said no to the pain meds last
night. They.... they make it hard to wake up."
"Nightmares."
"Nasty suckers, too. I haven't had these ones in... almost
twelve years. It's funny how your memory kinda.... puts bad stuff in
storage after a while, at least while you're awake. The colors get
dimmer, details get fuzzy..... when you sleep, though, it comes back
clear an' bright... sickening as the night it happened."
"Nicky..."
"Why does shit like this have to happen, Gris? An' always to
sweet kids like Greg...."
"And you."
"I'm no kid." Nick sighed, sweeping his uninjured hand over
his face.
"You were when you were assaulted. Greg will come back to the
world eventually, Nick. When he does, he'll need someone who
understands what he's feeling and thinking."
"Not if he's thinking what I was after... after it happened."
"Which was?"
"Verbatim? The way I remember it, there were two or three
cops standin' around, and my first coherent thought was 'I wonder if
I'm fast enough to grab one of their guns and blow my brains out
before anybody can stop me?' "
Grissom dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, absorbing
the frightening statement, then he glanced up again.
"I'm glad you suppressed the impulse. You're still not coming
with us tonight?"
"Nah. I told you, I'd feel like I was violating him all over
again."
"I understand, but this may be the only way for us to find
out where he was last night, which could lead us to his rapists."
"I get that. I just.... can't. I'm gonna switch out with
Warrick and take over the case he was workin' with Sara."
"He's brought you up to speed?"
"As of start of shift tonight."
After a deep breath and a few seconds of silence, Grissom
nodded, rose and left the break-room. Nick followed a few minutes
later, intending to hit the morgue for an update on the body, but his
distraction caused him to literally bump into the person he least
wanted to see.
"Sorry, Hodges."
"I doubt it." the other man grumbled. A smile soon broke out
on his face, however. "Hey, how's heavy-metal boy, anyway?"
"What?"
"Sanders. I heard he ended up in the ER. Did his bong explode
or was it his eardrums? I wouldn't be surprised if it was both
simultaneously. Maybe the Hell's Angels beat him up for daring to
listen to anything but techno...."
Silent, Nick turned to face Hodges squarely and expressed his
displeasure by thrusting his cast into the other man's midsection.
After a moment to appreciate the reaction, he used the cast to
uppercut, then forcefully back-hand the irritant into submission.
Hodges crashed into the wall then dropped to the floor, wheezing and
bleeding from the mouth. Nick spat a few terse words, stepped over
the inert form and continued on his way, shaking his hand and cursing
under his breath.
"He was raped you ignorant, arrogant asshole! Stupid son of a
bitch...."
Hearing the blows and the thump of someone hitting the
ground, Sara came running from a nearby room and stopped dead at the
sight of Hodges laid out in front of her.
"What the hell..."
"S... Stokes.... he hit me!"
"And your contribution was..."
"Nothing!"
"Uh-huh."
"I made some comment about... about Sanders. How was I
sh'pposed to know wha' happened to 'im? Noone bovered to tell me!" he
slurred, his words swiftly losing their form as his jaw swelled.
"Yeah... I can't understand why." She snapped, turning to
walk away.
"Hey.... help me...."
"There's a first aid kit in the break-room. Go clean yourself
up and quit blocking the hallway. Better do it soon, too. The
janitors might recognize you for the garbage you are and toss you in
the dumpster out back."
-----------------------------
"You know I sent the report up a while ago."
"I know. I skimmed it. Thought I'd come down and see if
there's anything new that didn't make it in there."
"Not really. How's the hand? Looks like you ran the cast into
something."
"Nothin' I regret..."
"Uh-hmm. Somebody make a ill-considered comment about Greg?"
the other man asked, tension suddenly coloring his voice.
"Yeah.... how'd you..."
"You're generally good about holding back on your anger.
Situation like this.... might be the only thing that could get you to
react without thinking it through or counting to ten first. Is the
cast badly damaged?"
"Nah....just a little crack. It'll be okay. So there's
nothin' more recent on the post? Nothing I need to know before I go
out and do more work at the scene?"
"As I said in the report, there was very little damage to the
body, internal or external. If he did fall, it wasn't from very high
up. No higher than the second story probably. Cause of death was a
massive heart attack."
"Okay. Thanks."
"No problem...." the older man replied, turning away to
answer the phone. Nick hung around in case it was about his case, but
when the ME hung up, Nick wished he'd left when he had the
chance. "Grissom and Brass. They want you upstairs, pronto."
Nick grimaced and swore softly.
"I shoulda run like the wind right after it happened...."
"Yeah, you should have. Hodges.... he'll see you in a cell.
Good God man, are you insane?"
"No. Tired and pissed and scared for Greg.... not much
difference, I guess."
"At least you won't be alone."
"What?"
"Sara found him in the hall and apparently she wasn't much
kinder verbally than you were physically."
"Crap...." Nick said, turning to head back to the upper level.
-----------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL:
Gently brushing a few strands of hair off Greg's forehead,
Catherine glanced at her watch and frowned. Having only had an hour
or two with him, she hated that she had to go but she was already
late for shift. If Grissom hadn't allowed her to join the team
examining Greg's apartment, she might have called and said she wasn't
coming in, but her eagerness to catch the young man's attackers was
almost as strong as her desire to stay by his side. Leaning in to
place a soft kiss on his brow, she smiled at Greg and gripped his
hand.
"I have to leave now, sweetheart. The investigation's kicking
into high gear tonight. We'll get whoever did this, kiddo, I promise.
Don't give up, okay? You hang on as tight as you can. You're gonna be
fine..... just fine. I'll see you soon."
As she moved to lay his hand back on the bed, Greg's palm
curled slightly around hers, anchoring her to the visitor's chair.
Catherine suddenly gasped, wanting to believe what she'd felt, but
not daring to think it might be real.
{God... can it be? It's too soon.... and he's too young to be so
strong. Just maybe.... C'mon Greg.... if you're there show me....}
The questioning rasp of her name forced from a dehydrated throat
confirmed the evidence of her fingers and her expression was a
strange mix of joy and sorrow as his eyes found hers.
"Cath?"
"I'm here, Greg. I'm right here.... you're alright. Thank
God..."
"Everything hurts.... I'm thirsty...."
"I know... I know. We'll fix that in just a minute. Hang
on..." she reassured him, reaching for and pressing the button that
would summon help.
"Where... where am I?"
"In the hospital."
"Hospital... what...."
"Shhhh. Don't try to talk too much, yet, okay?" she advised,
stroking his forehead and cheeks with her free hand to calm him. He
still had a fierce claim on her other hand and she was determined not
to make him relinquish it, but the nurses bustled in and she was
gently ushered out into the hall, despite her protests.
Reluctantly suppressing an urge to rush back in and demand
her right to stay with him no matter what, Catherine headed for the
nearby bank of phones instead.
-------------------------------
"He is? That's excellent, Catherine. Right. We'll meet you at
his apartment in half an hour. I know. I know, but you can't do
anything there right now and you're needed.... Alright. Yes. Fine.
Good-bye."
Nick and Brass both stared at Gil until he put the phone down
and turned to them. They had heard the hope and relief in his voice
and it had buoyed their failing spirits as well. His next words did
that twice over. "Greg is conscious, coherent and talking, though not
much of the latter just yet."
"Thank God..." Brass breathed. "I hated leaving like I did
last night..."
"You had another case. There was no choice."
Nick slumped in his chair, both hands over his face as he
absorbed the good news and struggled with his emotions. When he gazed
at the other two again, his joy was tempered by being reminded why he
was really there. "Greg's recovery is a wonderful thing, Nick, but
you have more to think about than that right now."
"I know..."
"If Hodges decides to press charges you could be knee deep in
cow-pies by this time tomorrow, Texas." Brass warned him.
"The little butt-wipe as much as admitted he goaded Nick into
it." Sara interjected in defense of her colleague.
"You weren't there to hear the exchange."
"No, but..."
"And Nick, for some reason, won't tell us what Hodges said."
"There's a good reason for that."
"Which would be?"
"I'm embarrassed, okay? The guy was bein' a major jerk, like
always, an' in the heat a'the moment.... I felt like I was standin'
up for somebody who couldn't stand up for themselves."
"And in retrospect?"
"What he said sounds as stupid and childish as it actually
was. I know it was wrong to punch him, damn it.... it just felt so
*good*!"
"I'm sure it did, but you know how it works. Whoever gives us
the full story first, with details, will likely be the one to get the
benefit of the doubt. Just tell us what he said." Brass told him,
smiling lightly.
Nick hesitated, a flush of renewed anger rising in his face,
but he surrendered eventually.
"He.... he asked me how Greg was doing, except he called
him "heavy metal boy", with that same sneer that always makes me
wanna smack it off his face...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Nick?"
Startled out of dark, morose thoughts, Nick Stokes
instinctively batted away the gentle hand on his shoulder and swiftly
rose to his feet, sending his chair skittering toward the wall.
"Grissom. Hey... I'm so sorry. You caught me off-guard."
"No harm done. At least you struck with the un-casted hand."
"Yeah." Nick said, gazing briefly at his injury.
"Preoccupied.... or something else?" Gil asked as he
retrieved the chair and both men sat down.
"Else... I guess. Wishin' I'd said no to the pain meds last
night. They.... they make it hard to wake up."
"Nightmares."
"Nasty suckers, too. I haven't had these ones in... almost
twelve years. It's funny how your memory kinda.... puts bad stuff in
storage after a while, at least while you're awake. The colors get
dimmer, details get fuzzy..... when you sleep, though, it comes back
clear an' bright... sickening as the night it happened."
"Nicky..."
"Why does shit like this have to happen, Gris? An' always to
sweet kids like Greg...."
"And you."
"I'm no kid." Nick sighed, sweeping his uninjured hand over
his face.
"You were when you were assaulted. Greg will come back to the
world eventually, Nick. When he does, he'll need someone who
understands what he's feeling and thinking."
"Not if he's thinking what I was after... after it happened."
"Which was?"
"Verbatim? The way I remember it, there were two or three
cops standin' around, and my first coherent thought was 'I wonder if
I'm fast enough to grab one of their guns and blow my brains out
before anybody can stop me?' "
Grissom dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, absorbing
the frightening statement, then he glanced up again.
"I'm glad you suppressed the impulse. You're still not coming
with us tonight?"
"Nah. I told you, I'd feel like I was violating him all over
again."
"I understand, but this may be the only way for us to find
out where he was last night, which could lead us to his rapists."
"I get that. I just.... can't. I'm gonna switch out with
Warrick and take over the case he was workin' with Sara."
"He's brought you up to speed?"
"As of start of shift tonight."
After a deep breath and a few seconds of silence, Grissom
nodded, rose and left the break-room. Nick followed a few minutes
later, intending to hit the morgue for an update on the body, but his
distraction caused him to literally bump into the person he least
wanted to see.
"Sorry, Hodges."
"I doubt it." the other man grumbled. A smile soon broke out
on his face, however. "Hey, how's heavy-metal boy, anyway?"
"What?"
"Sanders. I heard he ended up in the ER. Did his bong explode
or was it his eardrums? I wouldn't be surprised if it was both
simultaneously. Maybe the Hell's Angels beat him up for daring to
listen to anything but techno...."
Silent, Nick turned to face Hodges squarely and expressed his
displeasure by thrusting his cast into the other man's midsection.
After a moment to appreciate the reaction, he used the cast to
uppercut, then forcefully back-hand the irritant into submission.
Hodges crashed into the wall then dropped to the floor, wheezing and
bleeding from the mouth. Nick spat a few terse words, stepped over
the inert form and continued on his way, shaking his hand and cursing
under his breath.
"He was raped you ignorant, arrogant asshole! Stupid son of a
bitch...."
Hearing the blows and the thump of someone hitting the
ground, Sara came running from a nearby room and stopped dead at the
sight of Hodges laid out in front of her.
"What the hell..."
"S... Stokes.... he hit me!"
"And your contribution was..."
"Nothing!"
"Uh-huh."
"I made some comment about... about Sanders. How was I
sh'pposed to know wha' happened to 'im? Noone bovered to tell me!" he
slurred, his words swiftly losing their form as his jaw swelled.
"Yeah... I can't understand why." She snapped, turning to
walk away.
"Hey.... help me...."
"There's a first aid kit in the break-room. Go clean yourself
up and quit blocking the hallway. Better do it soon, too. The
janitors might recognize you for the garbage you are and toss you in
the dumpster out back."
-----------------------------
"You know I sent the report up a while ago."
"I know. I skimmed it. Thought I'd come down and see if
there's anything new that didn't make it in there."
"Not really. How's the hand? Looks like you ran the cast into
something."
"Nothin' I regret..."
"Uh-hmm. Somebody make a ill-considered comment about Greg?"
the other man asked, tension suddenly coloring his voice.
"Yeah.... how'd you..."
"You're generally good about holding back on your anger.
Situation like this.... might be the only thing that could get you to
react without thinking it through or counting to ten first. Is the
cast badly damaged?"
"Nah....just a little crack. It'll be okay. So there's
nothin' more recent on the post? Nothing I need to know before I go
out and do more work at the scene?"
"As I said in the report, there was very little damage to the
body, internal or external. If he did fall, it wasn't from very high
up. No higher than the second story probably. Cause of death was a
massive heart attack."
"Okay. Thanks."
"No problem...." the older man replied, turning away to
answer the phone. Nick hung around in case it was about his case, but
when the ME hung up, Nick wished he'd left when he had the
chance. "Grissom and Brass. They want you upstairs, pronto."
Nick grimaced and swore softly.
"I shoulda run like the wind right after it happened...."
"Yeah, you should have. Hodges.... he'll see you in a cell.
Good God man, are you insane?"
"No. Tired and pissed and scared for Greg.... not much
difference, I guess."
"At least you won't be alone."
"What?"
"Sara found him in the hall and apparently she wasn't much
kinder verbally than you were physically."
"Crap...." Nick said, turning to head back to the upper level.
-----------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL:
Gently brushing a few strands of hair off Greg's forehead,
Catherine glanced at her watch and frowned. Having only had an hour
or two with him, she hated that she had to go but she was already
late for shift. If Grissom hadn't allowed her to join the team
examining Greg's apartment, she might have called and said she wasn't
coming in, but her eagerness to catch the young man's attackers was
almost as strong as her desire to stay by his side. Leaning in to
place a soft kiss on his brow, she smiled at Greg and gripped his
hand.
"I have to leave now, sweetheart. The investigation's kicking
into high gear tonight. We'll get whoever did this, kiddo, I promise.
Don't give up, okay? You hang on as tight as you can. You're gonna be
fine..... just fine. I'll see you soon."
As she moved to lay his hand back on the bed, Greg's palm
curled slightly around hers, anchoring her to the visitor's chair.
Catherine suddenly gasped, wanting to believe what she'd felt, but
not daring to think it might be real.
{God... can it be? It's too soon.... and he's too young to be so
strong. Just maybe.... C'mon Greg.... if you're there show me....}
The questioning rasp of her name forced from a dehydrated throat
confirmed the evidence of her fingers and her expression was a
strange mix of joy and sorrow as his eyes found hers.
"Cath?"
"I'm here, Greg. I'm right here.... you're alright. Thank
God..."
"Everything hurts.... I'm thirsty...."
"I know... I know. We'll fix that in just a minute. Hang
on..." she reassured him, reaching for and pressing the button that
would summon help.
"Where... where am I?"
"In the hospital."
"Hospital... what...."
"Shhhh. Don't try to talk too much, yet, okay?" she advised,
stroking his forehead and cheeks with her free hand to calm him. He
still had a fierce claim on her other hand and she was determined not
to make him relinquish it, but the nurses bustled in and she was
gently ushered out into the hall, despite her protests.
Reluctantly suppressing an urge to rush back in and demand
her right to stay with him no matter what, Catherine headed for the
nearby bank of phones instead.
-------------------------------
"He is? That's excellent, Catherine. Right. We'll meet you at
his apartment in half an hour. I know. I know, but you can't do
anything there right now and you're needed.... Alright. Yes. Fine.
Good-bye."
Nick and Brass both stared at Gil until he put the phone down
and turned to them. They had heard the hope and relief in his voice
and it had buoyed their failing spirits as well. His next words did
that twice over. "Greg is conscious, coherent and talking, though not
much of the latter just yet."
"Thank God..." Brass breathed. "I hated leaving like I did
last night..."
"You had another case. There was no choice."
Nick slumped in his chair, both hands over his face as he
absorbed the good news and struggled with his emotions. When he gazed
at the other two again, his joy was tempered by being reminded why he
was really there. "Greg's recovery is a wonderful thing, Nick, but
you have more to think about than that right now."
"I know..."
"If Hodges decides to press charges you could be knee deep in
cow-pies by this time tomorrow, Texas." Brass warned him.
"The little butt-wipe as much as admitted he goaded Nick into
it." Sara interjected in defense of her colleague.
"You weren't there to hear the exchange."
"No, but..."
"And Nick, for some reason, won't tell us what Hodges said."
"There's a good reason for that."
"Which would be?"
"I'm embarrassed, okay? The guy was bein' a major jerk, like
always, an' in the heat a'the moment.... I felt like I was standin'
up for somebody who couldn't stand up for themselves."
"And in retrospect?"
"What he said sounds as stupid and childish as it actually
was. I know it was wrong to punch him, damn it.... it just felt so
*good*!"
"I'm sure it did, but you know how it works. Whoever gives us
the full story first, with details, will likely be the one to get the
benefit of the doubt. Just tell us what he said." Brass told him,
smiling lightly.
Nick hesitated, a flush of renewed anger rising in his face,
but he surrendered eventually.
"He.... he asked me how Greg was doing, except he called
him "heavy metal boy", with that same sneer that always makes me
wanna smack it off his face...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
45 MINUTES LATER:
Nick stood staring up at the apartment building, carefully
studying the second floor windows while Sara did a quick re-
examination of the area immediately around the crime scene. She
didn't really believe the other investigators had missed anything,
but it never hurt to be thorough and she also sensed that Nick needed
a little space.
Glancing back and forth from the taped off area on the ground
to the apartment balconies above, Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead
with his good hand. As his partner for the night strolled up beside
him she followed his gaze upwards.
"It's not that bad. Judging from where he ended up we've got
at most three tenants to talk to."
"I know. It's not that. I've got a wicked headache comin'
on.... an' I think I busted somethin' else under this dang cast."
"Dang? Did I just hear a touch of Texas-speak in there
somewhere?" Sara chuckled in surprise.
"It happens more when I'm stressed." He admitted. "It'll
probably get worse over the next few days."
Sara sobered instantly.
"Hey, he's aware and talking. That's a big improvement. For
it to happen this soon just shows how strong he is."
"The explosion taught us that. He didn't have to be put
through somethin' so much worse...."
"Nobody *put* him through it, Nick. Not in the cosmic sense
you're thinking of, anyway. It happened. Shit does, you know? We
endure."
"Ladies and gentlemen, the author of "My Fifteen Second
Philosophy", Miss Sara Sidle...." Nick joked. She lightly shoved his
head sideways and smiled at him.
"Funny. C'mon. We have potential suspects to interview."
----------------------------------
GREG'S APARTMENT:
Catherine growled, blew out a puff of air and tossed down the
day-runner she'd been paging through. Turning momentarily from the
spot where he stood lightly sifting graphite dust over a bedroom
doorknob, Grissom addressed her obvious annoyance.
"Nothing?"
"No. Except for a reminder to get groceries, Thursday is
totally blank. There's not a damn thing in here that points to where
he might have gone last night or why."
"Relax, Catherine. We've just gotten started. Big or small,
directional arrows have a way of turning up when we need them."
She stared at him, briefly incredulous. Feeling her eyes on
his back, he responded without letting her distract him from his work
a second time. "What?"
"Directional arrows turning *up*.... did you mean to do that?"
He finished lifting and preserving the fingerprints then
turned fully around to face her and flashed her a quick smile.
"Huh. No, actually. I don't think I could if I tried. It's
the nature of moments like that to be spontaneous. You feel like
taking the bathroom?"
Soothed somewhat by the familiarity of Grissom's logical
thought processes, she returned the smile.
"Why not?"
An hour later, the team had amassed a good-sized collection
of potential evidence, but had found not a trace of the tangible, pen-
and-ink clues they had hoped to come away with. Snapping off her
gloves, Catherine ran one hand through her hair and groaned.
"Damn it. This was a waste of time...."
"Not at all."
"We didn't really find anything, Gris." Warrick commented
tiredly.
"Finding nothing is something. It means it's likely the
attack didn't happen here."
"And where does that get us? We still don't know where it
*did* happen."
Gil looked from one to the other.
"That's not the point. If the attack occurred elsewhere, it
means Greg doesn't have to be afraid to come home."
Closing his kit, Gil strode out of the apartment to store the
heavy box in his SUV. Catherine and Warrick traded numb looks.
"How did we not get that?" she asked quietly.
"We're so tired our brains are deep fried?"
"Possible.... I didn't think I was there yet."
"We're insensitive and obtuse?"
"Definitely not. As usual the truth is probably somewhere in
the middle...." she replied, leaning on his shoulder as they left
together.
--------------------------------
AN HOUR LATER: THE APARTMENT BUILDING
Sara released a fatigued breath and quickly ran a hand
through her hair.
"Last of the three."
"Yeah, an' it better bring us somethin', 'cause the other two
were complete washouts." Nick replied.
"I don't know.... the woman in the last apartment was trying
to scope out your ass pretty much the whole time we were in there."
"She was ninety-two years old!"
"Old doesn't mean dead, Nicky...." Sara giggled, grinning
wickedly at him.
"Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you tryin' to keep my mind off...
other stuff, but let's just finish this, okay? I need to get the
paperwork done, go home an' grab a bottle of somethin' ice cold an'
strong enough to kill brain cells on contact."
"Yeah... when this is over an' the bastards who raped Greg
are behind bars.... I might join you. Long as you promise to stock
enough mind eraser to last a couple days."
"Maybe.... you're probably right. Let's wait an' make it a
team party. With a theme..."
"Blacking out can be fun?"
"That'll work. Though I can't see Gris drinking at all, never
mind doin' it 'till he passes out."
"Trying to get him plastered could be another party all by
itself..."
"Yeah. Can you see him after three or four cocktails?"
"Talking everybody's ear off." Sara conjectured, beginning to
succumb to a bout of laughter as she visualized the scene.
"About bugs, most likely..."
"Nobody'd be able to eat...."
"Right, liquor only.... pigs in a blanket are out..." Nick
added, fighting desperately not to let the mirth bubbling up inside
him escape. "Okay... okay." he finally managed, swiping at his
eyes. "I won't say I didn't need that really bad... but we have one
more apartment to check."
"I guess we do." Sara responded, regaining control as
well. "Let's get this over with, huh?" she said, snapping on gloves.
"Yeah.... let's." he said, doing the same just before
strolling down the hall a few feet and knocking on the door. A moment
later, the door opened a crack and a woman peered out through the gap
allowed by the security chain.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Nick held his ID up so that the woman could see it.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab, ma'mm. We're investigating a suspicious
death in the building. May we come in a have a quick look around?"
"Death? Oh.... of course. Wait just a minute..." she said,
closing the door in order to release the chain. She then opened it
again fully and allowed the pair inside.
"I don't know what I can tell you. I don't know half the
people in this complex. I had no idea someone had died."
Sara moved immediately to the area in front of the balcony
doors and crouched, closely examining the floor. Nick moved slowly
around the living area, checking out several sets of shelves and the
top of the small entertainment center.
"Ma'mm... do you live here alone?" he asked, switching his
gaze from her to various items in the room.
"Actually, yes."
"How long have you been in this apartment, Miss..."
"Carstairs... Sheila Carstairs. I've been here about two
years." She replied nervously, stuffing her hands in the pockets of
her jeans.
"This is beautiful." He commented, picking up a candle in a
sunshine yellow glass cup and flashing her one of his patented
charismatic smiles. "My girlfriend loves this kinda thing. Do you
mind if I ask where you got it?"
"Oh... oh, not at all. Here. This is where I get all my
candleholders. She's an incredible glass artist." The woman said,
visibly relaxing. Moving to a desk by the door she retrieved a
business card and brought it back, handing it to Nick. He looked for
Sara, who was just coming back in from examining the balcony railing.
As she returned to his side, he replaced the candle.
"Thank you, Miss Carstairs. I'll check her out. We all set,
Sara?"
"Yeah. Thank you for letting us come in and look around,
ma'mm."
"No problem. Good luck with your investigation."
Nick nodded and preceded Sara out. Once the door was shut and
they were waiting at the elevator, he spoke quietly to her, head
bowed and his good hand in his back pocket.
"So?"
"The floor just in front of the balcony was swept and washed
recently, but I think I caught sight of a few shards she missed,
pushed into the cracks along the baseboards. The railing's got signs
of damage. Subtle, but they're visible if you know what to look for.
You?"
"She's got the right kind of candle holders. Plus I spotted
some cleaning she forgot to do."
"Dusting?"
"Oh yeah. I saw at least five places with no dust in them
where it's obvious something used to be."
"So she's our suspect."
"Looks like. Now we go do a background check and find out
what else she isn't telling us."
-----------------------------------
THE LAB: THIRTY MINUTES LATER
"Hang on.... where's that list of tenants again?"
Sara handed him a sheaf of stapled papers. "She was in 2-F,
right?"
"Yeah."
"This lists the current tenants as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew
Carstairs. In the apartment since 1997."
"Lie number one and number two." Sara replied.
"And there're probably more we haven't dug out yet." Nick
responded with mild satisfaction. "You wanna hit the computer or
should I?"
"I'll take care of it. You go take a break. Get something to
eat, rest the hand...."
"You're being nice to me. Should I be scared?"
"You performed a public service tonight. You deserve a
reward." She commented, adjusting the computer chair in front of the
glowing screen.
"That so-called public service could get me arrested."
"Maybe, but Hodges won't be able to talk for at least two
weeks. I heard a rumor the rest of the shift is taking up a
collection to buy you a plaque."
Nick grinned as an evil thought occurred to him.
"We should make it one of the ones with lots of spaces for
the little brass rectangles. That way the next time somebody cleans
his clock, we can put their name an' the date up there. Wonder if we
could convince Gris to hang it in the lobby.... call it the "I
Smacked Hodges And I'm Proud" hall of fame."
Sara laughed out loud.
"An' a display case off to the side.... to hold the doctor's
reports.... and pictures of how bad he looked."
Nick joined her gleeful chuckles as he walked away, but part
of her last statement stuck with him all the way to the break room.
As he walked he repeated one word a few times, musing on how it could
be accomplished:
"Pictures...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick stood staring up at the apartment building, carefully
studying the second floor windows while Sara did a quick re-
examination of the area immediately around the crime scene. She
didn't really believe the other investigators had missed anything,
but it never hurt to be thorough and she also sensed that Nick needed
a little space.
Glancing back and forth from the taped off area on the ground
to the apartment balconies above, Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead
with his good hand. As his partner for the night strolled up beside
him she followed his gaze upwards.
"It's not that bad. Judging from where he ended up we've got
at most three tenants to talk to."
"I know. It's not that. I've got a wicked headache comin'
on.... an' I think I busted somethin' else under this dang cast."
"Dang? Did I just hear a touch of Texas-speak in there
somewhere?" Sara chuckled in surprise.
"It happens more when I'm stressed." He admitted. "It'll
probably get worse over the next few days."
Sara sobered instantly.
"Hey, he's aware and talking. That's a big improvement. For
it to happen this soon just shows how strong he is."
"The explosion taught us that. He didn't have to be put
through somethin' so much worse...."
"Nobody *put* him through it, Nick. Not in the cosmic sense
you're thinking of, anyway. It happened. Shit does, you know? We
endure."
"Ladies and gentlemen, the author of "My Fifteen Second
Philosophy", Miss Sara Sidle...." Nick joked. She lightly shoved his
head sideways and smiled at him.
"Funny. C'mon. We have potential suspects to interview."
----------------------------------
GREG'S APARTMENT:
Catherine growled, blew out a puff of air and tossed down the
day-runner she'd been paging through. Turning momentarily from the
spot where he stood lightly sifting graphite dust over a bedroom
doorknob, Grissom addressed her obvious annoyance.
"Nothing?"
"No. Except for a reminder to get groceries, Thursday is
totally blank. There's not a damn thing in here that points to where
he might have gone last night or why."
"Relax, Catherine. We've just gotten started. Big or small,
directional arrows have a way of turning up when we need them."
She stared at him, briefly incredulous. Feeling her eyes on
his back, he responded without letting her distract him from his work
a second time. "What?"
"Directional arrows turning *up*.... did you mean to do that?"
He finished lifting and preserving the fingerprints then
turned fully around to face her and flashed her a quick smile.
"Huh. No, actually. I don't think I could if I tried. It's
the nature of moments like that to be spontaneous. You feel like
taking the bathroom?"
Soothed somewhat by the familiarity of Grissom's logical
thought processes, she returned the smile.
"Why not?"
An hour later, the team had amassed a good-sized collection
of potential evidence, but had found not a trace of the tangible, pen-
and-ink clues they had hoped to come away with. Snapping off her
gloves, Catherine ran one hand through her hair and groaned.
"Damn it. This was a waste of time...."
"Not at all."
"We didn't really find anything, Gris." Warrick commented
tiredly.
"Finding nothing is something. It means it's likely the
attack didn't happen here."
"And where does that get us? We still don't know where it
*did* happen."
Gil looked from one to the other.
"That's not the point. If the attack occurred elsewhere, it
means Greg doesn't have to be afraid to come home."
Closing his kit, Gil strode out of the apartment to store the
heavy box in his SUV. Catherine and Warrick traded numb looks.
"How did we not get that?" she asked quietly.
"We're so tired our brains are deep fried?"
"Possible.... I didn't think I was there yet."
"We're insensitive and obtuse?"
"Definitely not. As usual the truth is probably somewhere in
the middle...." she replied, leaning on his shoulder as they left
together.
--------------------------------
AN HOUR LATER: THE APARTMENT BUILDING
Sara released a fatigued breath and quickly ran a hand
through her hair.
"Last of the three."
"Yeah, an' it better bring us somethin', 'cause the other two
were complete washouts." Nick replied.
"I don't know.... the woman in the last apartment was trying
to scope out your ass pretty much the whole time we were in there."
"She was ninety-two years old!"
"Old doesn't mean dead, Nicky...." Sara giggled, grinning
wickedly at him.
"Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you tryin' to keep my mind off...
other stuff, but let's just finish this, okay? I need to get the
paperwork done, go home an' grab a bottle of somethin' ice cold an'
strong enough to kill brain cells on contact."
"Yeah... when this is over an' the bastards who raped Greg
are behind bars.... I might join you. Long as you promise to stock
enough mind eraser to last a couple days."
"Maybe.... you're probably right. Let's wait an' make it a
team party. With a theme..."
"Blacking out can be fun?"
"That'll work. Though I can't see Gris drinking at all, never
mind doin' it 'till he passes out."
"Trying to get him plastered could be another party all by
itself..."
"Yeah. Can you see him after three or four cocktails?"
"Talking everybody's ear off." Sara conjectured, beginning to
succumb to a bout of laughter as she visualized the scene.
"About bugs, most likely..."
"Nobody'd be able to eat...."
"Right, liquor only.... pigs in a blanket are out..." Nick
added, fighting desperately not to let the mirth bubbling up inside
him escape. "Okay... okay." he finally managed, swiping at his
eyes. "I won't say I didn't need that really bad... but we have one
more apartment to check."
"I guess we do." Sara responded, regaining control as
well. "Let's get this over with, huh?" she said, snapping on gloves.
"Yeah.... let's." he said, doing the same just before
strolling down the hall a few feet and knocking on the door. A moment
later, the door opened a crack and a woman peered out through the gap
allowed by the security chain.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Nick held his ID up so that the woman could see it.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab, ma'mm. We're investigating a suspicious
death in the building. May we come in a have a quick look around?"
"Death? Oh.... of course. Wait just a minute..." she said,
closing the door in order to release the chain. She then opened it
again fully and allowed the pair inside.
"I don't know what I can tell you. I don't know half the
people in this complex. I had no idea someone had died."
Sara moved immediately to the area in front of the balcony
doors and crouched, closely examining the floor. Nick moved slowly
around the living area, checking out several sets of shelves and the
top of the small entertainment center.
"Ma'mm... do you live here alone?" he asked, switching his
gaze from her to various items in the room.
"Actually, yes."
"How long have you been in this apartment, Miss..."
"Carstairs... Sheila Carstairs. I've been here about two
years." She replied nervously, stuffing her hands in the pockets of
her jeans.
"This is beautiful." He commented, picking up a candle in a
sunshine yellow glass cup and flashing her one of his patented
charismatic smiles. "My girlfriend loves this kinda thing. Do you
mind if I ask where you got it?"
"Oh... oh, not at all. Here. This is where I get all my
candleholders. She's an incredible glass artist." The woman said,
visibly relaxing. Moving to a desk by the door she retrieved a
business card and brought it back, handing it to Nick. He looked for
Sara, who was just coming back in from examining the balcony railing.
As she returned to his side, he replaced the candle.
"Thank you, Miss Carstairs. I'll check her out. We all set,
Sara?"
"Yeah. Thank you for letting us come in and look around,
ma'mm."
"No problem. Good luck with your investigation."
Nick nodded and preceded Sara out. Once the door was shut and
they were waiting at the elevator, he spoke quietly to her, head
bowed and his good hand in his back pocket.
"So?"
"The floor just in front of the balcony was swept and washed
recently, but I think I caught sight of a few shards she missed,
pushed into the cracks along the baseboards. The railing's got signs
of damage. Subtle, but they're visible if you know what to look for.
You?"
"She's got the right kind of candle holders. Plus I spotted
some cleaning she forgot to do."
"Dusting?"
"Oh yeah. I saw at least five places with no dust in them
where it's obvious something used to be."
"So she's our suspect."
"Looks like. Now we go do a background check and find out
what else she isn't telling us."
-----------------------------------
THE LAB: THIRTY MINUTES LATER
"Hang on.... where's that list of tenants again?"
Sara handed him a sheaf of stapled papers. "She was in 2-F,
right?"
"Yeah."
"This lists the current tenants as Mr. and Mrs. Matthew
Carstairs. In the apartment since 1997."
"Lie number one and number two." Sara replied.
"And there're probably more we haven't dug out yet." Nick
responded with mild satisfaction. "You wanna hit the computer or
should I?"
"I'll take care of it. You go take a break. Get something to
eat, rest the hand...."
"You're being nice to me. Should I be scared?"
"You performed a public service tonight. You deserve a
reward." She commented, adjusting the computer chair in front of the
glowing screen.
"That so-called public service could get me arrested."
"Maybe, but Hodges won't be able to talk for at least two
weeks. I heard a rumor the rest of the shift is taking up a
collection to buy you a plaque."
Nick grinned as an evil thought occurred to him.
"We should make it one of the ones with lots of spaces for
the little brass rectangles. That way the next time somebody cleans
his clock, we can put their name an' the date up there. Wonder if we
could convince Gris to hang it in the lobby.... call it the "I
Smacked Hodges And I'm Proud" hall of fame."
Sara laughed out loud.
"An' a display case off to the side.... to hold the doctor's
reports.... and pictures of how bad he looked."
Nick joined her gleeful chuckles as he walked away, but part
of her last statement stuck with him all the way to the break room.
As he walked he repeated one word a few times, musing on how it could
be accomplished:
"Pictures...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
SUNDAY AFTERNOON:
Shifting the shopping bag she carried from one hand to the
other, Catherine knocked quietly on the door to Greg's room. When he
responded, she slipped inside, set down her burden and moved to
gently embrace him.
"Hi, kiddo. You look better today."
"I'm awake. That's a big deal, believe me. Talk fast, 'cause
I might not stay that way long." He joked faintly, shifting position
and grimacing at the pain caused by the movement. As she dropped into
the bedside chair, Cath frowned in sympathy and reached out for his
hand. He clasped her fingers gratefully and sighed.
"Do you want me to call a nurse?"
"No. No way.... It's not that bad." He told her, suddenly
nervous.
"But if you're in pain...."
"Forget it, okay? I don't want the meds unless I really need 'em.
They knock me out and... I don't like how it feels."
"You need your rest, though. How else is your body supposed to heal?"
"I know. It's.... I just feel weird about the drugs. I can't explain
it. Hey, what's in the bag?" he asked, finally spotting the item by
the door and happy to have a change of subject.
"I stopped by your place on the way over and grabbed a few
things. I got your book from your nightstand, your portable CD player
and a few disks.... mostly stuff I thought would boost your spirits a
little."
"Wow. Thanks. I won't be able to take advantage of any of it
for a day or two, but.... it means a lot that you thought about me."
"Of course I was thinking about you. Everybody at work is.
You should be drowning in get well cards any minute now."
Abruptly, Greg's expression darkened. For a moment, he turned
his eyes away from Catherine's and when he looked at her again, she
saw desolation and confusion.
"What? What is it? Are you worried if you'll be okay? I
promise, you will. It'll take a few days, but you'll be just
fine...."
"It's not that. Cath.... what happened? Was it the lab again?"
"No. Nothing like that..."
"If it was my fault this time, you can tell me. If I'm in
trouble I'd rather know now...."
"Greg, you're not in trouble. It's alright. Someone hurt
you.... beat you pretty badly. We don't know who yet, but we're
working on it and we *will* find them. Count on it."
"So... I have a job to go back to? I didn't mess up?"
"God, no, Greg. Everything at work is fine. Your job will be
waiting when you're better."
"Gris isn't mad that I missed my shift Thursday?" he asked,
sitting forward slightly.
"He was worried, yeah, but he wasn't mad. I mean, as far as being on
time, you're Old Faithful. When you didn't show we all got concerned,
but nobody's angry with you, least of all Gil. Trust me, everything's
alright."
The tension flowed out of Greg and his shoulders dropped visibly as
he lay back, closing his eyes.
"Okay. Okay, that's good.... I'm just so glad to hear that, you know?"
Realizing Greg was shaking, Cath gripped his hand a little tighter.
"Hey... you were really wound up over that, weren't you? You
seriously thought..."
".... that I was unemployed and soon to be homeless? Yeah, I guess
so." He joked weakly.
"Greg.... I'm so sorry. It hasn't been that long since... since the
assault and none of us were really sure what you were ready to hear."
"No problem. The way I'm feelin' right now.... maybe you're right to
wonder. Hey... what CD's did you bring?"
Catherine rose, retrieved the bag and returned, pulling out the
player and disks. She recited the titles as she flipped through the
cases.
"Kenny G, Journey, Metallica, Limp Bizkit and all the Animaniacs
albums I could find. You do know you have way too many of those for a
grown man, right?" Catherine asked, laughing.
"You only say that 'cause you've never heard the music. Here, you
take this one home and listen to it. Don't play it straight through
from beginning to end, though. First play ' The Quiet Song ', then
switch it to ' I'm Mad '. I swear, it'll remind you of every family
road trip you ever tried to survive." He assured her, stifling a
yawn. "Damn it, I'm fadin' out already...."
"Go ahead and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"You sure? You don't have to...."
"I want to. Go on. Close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere."
"Hmmm... thanks. Bein' alone.... makes me jumpy.... better to know
someone's around...." he admitted as he slipped into sleep.
Catherine's brow furrowed as she pondered his words and thought about
how much worse his nerves would get when he discovered what had
really happened to him.
--------------------
TWO HOURS LATER
When Greg next opened his eyes, he smiled when he found Catherine had
kept her promise. She was deeply slouched in the hard plastic
visitor's chair by his bed, on the point of dozing off herself.
"Cath..."
"Hmm? Oh... sorry. Didn't mean to conk out on you. Since you were
hurt... it's been a rough couple days for all of us."
"It's okay. You should go home... get some real sleep."
"No way. I said I'd stay with you and I will. I'll even read to you
if you want."
Greg suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"See, it's... it's not that I don't want you here. Like I said, it
makes me feel a lot better knowing I'm not alone. It's just... the
nurse is gonna be here any minute... to change the stupid bag...."
Her gaze slipping briefly down to the lump under the covers that
represented the temporary colostomy, Catherine understood his
reluctance for her to be in the room.
"Oh. Embarrassing, huh?"
"You have *no* idea."
"I get it. I can find somewhere else to be until she's done."
"You don't..."
"Greggo, quit with the 'I'm so strong' routine, okay? You don't have
to be. I give you my permission to fall on the floor, kick your feet
and scream "It's not fair!" at the top of your lungs if that's what
you feel like doing."
A single tear escaping his rigid control, Greg stared up at her and
replied so quietly Catherine almost couldn't hear him.
"Cath... don't give me any ideas."
"Greg..."
"You better go. If you really do feel like comin' back, it usually
takes about half an hour."
"Okay. Thirty minutes. You can time me." she responded tensely as she
left.
Catherine roamed the halls with a half full cup of coffee for most of
the half-hour, viewing the babies in the nursery and reveling in
memories of Lindsey when she was a newborn. She checked her watch
frequently, determined she would not let Greg down by being even a
few seconds late. When she did return, almost exactly on time, she
found her fears were unfounded. Warrick, also on a day off, had
arrived to spend some time with Greg as well. Her was perched on the
edge of the bed with his back to her, quietly talking with the
younger man. Hearing her footsteps, he half turned and greeted her
with a smile.
"There she is. Hey, Cath"
"Hi. Didn't expect to see you today."
"I know. I just.... thought I'd come see how he's doin'."
"How about that, kiddo. More company than you can shake a stick at."
Catherine chuckled as she moved for the visitor's chair again. Greg
held up a hand.
"Cath... it's okay. Go home and catch up on your sleep. You won't be
any good tomorrow if you don't."
"Are you sure? I can stay...."
"Positive. Warrick's here. I'll be okay. Tell you something, though.
If Sarah shows up in a couple hours I'm gonna think this is a
conspiracy."
"Sarah's workin' today."
Greg grimaced.
"On a Sunday? Damn...."
"She says she needs the overtime. I think it's more like kissing
butt." Warrick joked. Assured that Greg was comfortable with the
situation, Catherine slipped back out as the conversation really got
going and took the elevator back down to her car.
--------------------------
SARA
Clicking the camera shutter over and over, Sara felt eyes on her back
and shrugged off the crawling sensation along her spine. Many of the
officers and techs moving around the crime scene seemed to know she
didn't have to be working on a Sunday and, combined with the general
knowledge that something horrible had happened to someone she knew
well, she felt they were judging her for being there at all. Pulling
her mind back to her current task, she focused more intently and
determinedly ignored the glances and frowns sent her way. Noone
understood and she didn't feel like taking the time to explain.
She'd been through too many tragic situations in her life; so many
that she found she was no longer able to react the way others did.
While those around her sobbed, gasped and embraced, she held back and
stepped back, feeling only discomfort and a need for distance. She
cared for and about Greg and she suffered with him more than any of
the others would ever realize, but her emotions were walled up,
shoved so deep for so long they no longer knew how to navigate the
snarled, complex maze that would lead them to the surface.
Rising out of a deep crouch, she took a deep breath and snapped
another picture or two from different angles then dropped the camera
to her side. As Grissom moved close to begin evidence collection, she
walked away to re-pack her equipment. Catching a few notes from the
SUV radio, she paused to listen, but couldn't quite make out what the
song was, so she walked around and sat half in and half out the
driver's seat, listening intently.
* .... I feel just like I'm sinking
And I claw for solid ground
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go
If all of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
Full of grace
Full of grace
So it's better this way, I said
Having seen this place before
Where everything we said and did
Hurts us all the more
Its just that we stayed, too long
In the same old sickly skin
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go ..... *
"Sara? I could use your help."
"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. Sorry, boss. It was... I never heard this song
before. It's really beautiful."
Grissom listened to the last strains of the tune and smiled somewhere
into the middle distance.
"Sarah Mclachlan. It is lovely. One of my favorites. I'm thinking
about Greg too. No sin in it. Just don't...."
"I know. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted. What'd you need
me for?" she asked, standing and facing the house where the victim
had been found. Once Grissom gave her another assignment, she strode
away without comment, face devoid of expression. He watched her go,
wondering for the first time if she'd learned lessons from him that
he never intended to teach.
--------------------
"Look, just shut up about it, wouldya, Sidle? I'll go when I
have the time."
"Hey, I understand. We all feel a little sick when we see
what they did to him, but..."
Nick turned his most intensely angry gaze on Sara and her
words petered out.
"You don't understand. Leave it there, 'cause if you can't...
we're gonna have a problem."
"Got it. Officially backing off."
"Good. Now, can we get moving on this? We've had this warrant
for an hour and I don't feel like givin' Mrs. Carstairs any more time
to think about our visit the other day."
"I'm sure all she's been thinking about is that grin you
threw her." Sara tossed out as they moved into the building, followed
by three uniformed officers.
"What?"
"Please! You do it every time. Beautiful female suspect,
gotta keep her from getting suspicious before we have our evidence
together. Bam, out comes the "I'm just a sweet, non-threatening,
gorgeous hunk of cowboy" smile and her guard drops faster than a
mosquito at a reptile convention."
Nick made a half-turn away from the opening elevator doors,
crossed his arms on his chest and confronted Sara face to face.
"I do not do that."
"Hey, whatever you say, Nicky. Next time the situation comes
up an' I'm the one with the camera...." she teased as she stepped in.
He followed a few seconds later, his expression rapidly darkening.
"I don't flirt with suspects. Not even pretty ones." he
insisted.
"Did I say it was flirting? So you've got an incredible
smile. It's a tool you use to get the job done. Whatever works...."
"Yeah... maybe." he murmured, his mind suddenly far away.
When they reached the second floor a minute or so later, Sara
tried to keep the teasing going, but Nick didn't respond. Silent, he
moved directly to the door of the apartment and knocked. When it
opened, the shock on the face of Sheila Carstairs was clear.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Ms. Carstairs? Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas crime lab. We
met before?"
"Oh... Oh, yes. Well, I don't know what more I can do for
you..."
"You can wait in the hall with these officers while we search
your apartment."
"I don't think..."
"We have a warrant. If you'll step aside..."
Dumbfounded, the woman sidestepped into the hall, allowing
Nick and Sara to enter. Throughout the hour or so it took for the
pair to collect all the evidence they needed, the younger woman tried
repeatedly to re-establish the easy rapport they usually had with
each other, but her partner refused to even speak, remaining distant
and close-mouthed. When they'd finished, Nick left first, directing
one of the officers to bring Sheila Carstairs to the station for
questioning. Sara watched him go with a confused expression, but soon
trailed behind, reaching the SUV a few minutes after he did.
"Nick, say something, damn it. I wasn't trying to bust your
balls. I was playin', you know... bein' me."
"I know, Sara. It's not really anything you did. Sometimes...
I think too much. Let it go, okay?"
"Yeah... okay."
------------------------------
----
THIRTY MINUTES LATER: THE STATION
"Whoa. Twenty-three cards already." Warrick commented softly,
looking through the pile of envelopes designated for delivery to Greg.
"And at least half that many e-mails. I think my printer ran
for forty minutes straight. I may have to replace the cartridge."
Grissom replied, neatening the stack of papers and adding them to the
cards.
"Still nothing on who might have attacked Greg?"
"No. No leads yet."
"And he doesn't remember anything?"
"I haven't asked him and I'm not letting anyone else do it
either."
"We need a starting point at least. I know he's still
hurting, but if he can give us that..."
"No. The first move has to be his. He'll let us know when
he's ready."
"And if the bastards vanish in the mean-time?"
"I highly doubt they will. This assault feels personal, Warrick. They
could have dumped him in the street or chosen not to move him at all.
Instead, they left him in the most degrading condition imaginable and
made sure he'd be found. That's a grudge. "
"And if they're sick enough to do it that way, they'll wanna stick
close to see his pain."
"Advantage to the good guys. Once Greg is able to look at what's left
of his memories from that night, if he can give us anything helpful
his attackers probably won't be hard to find."
"The only problem will be keepin' half the department from beatin'
the perps heads through the floor." Warrick said grimly as he
gathered the cards and notes and rose to his feet.
"Mmmm. One reason I'll be keeping strictly out of the way when
they're brought in." Grissom mumbled, head down as he focused on
paperwork.
"Yeah.... if there was any situation I can see you givin' somebody a
beat down, it'd be this one."
Gil looked up with a small smile.
"Don't spread it around. I have a reputation to think about."
"Icewater in the veins. Gotcha." he confirmed, turning to leave and
halting to listen to the end of an argument.
"Brass an' I can handle Carstairs. Take the time an' go see him
before you get another assignment. If it gets busy, you might not get
a chance."
"Grissom'll kick my ass if he finds out."
"If you were playin' miniature golf or goin' for ice cream, yeah, but
not for this. He'll understand an' you know it."
"Nick's right, girl. Take lunch a little early. Trust me, seein' his
face when you give him these... it'll be worth it." Warrick urged,
handing her the collection of support and good wishes he
carried. "Tell him more are comin' in every day."
"Wow. Maybe..."
Looking at her watch, Sara realized how close to lunch it actually
was and that decided her. Smiling at the men, she stepped around them
and addressed her boss.
"Grissom? If it's okay, I'm gonna head out for lunch a few minutes
early. I thought I'd go see how Greg's feeling... deliver his cards
and stuff."
"How are you and Nick coming on the Carstairs case?"
"Evidence is being processed, the wife's in a room waiting on Brass
and Nicky to talk to her."
"Look solid?"
"Rock of Gibraltar."
"Okay. Go ahead. No more than two hours, though."
Sara's eyes widened at the doubling of her normal lunch period.
"Thanks. I'll make it up at the end of shift." she responded,
grinning.
"That's fine. Tell him we miss him."
The further shock of the stoic Grissom making such a statement
threatened to knock Sara over backwards, but she recovered quickly.
"Yeah... I will. Thanks again." she said as she backed away.
"No problem."
--------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?" Greg answered, a weary grin lighting up his face.
"Cheese"
"Cheese who?" he bantered back as Sara moved to his side.
"Cheese, aren't you outta the hospital yet?"
Greg squeezed his eyes shut and laughed quietly until tears of joy
rolled down his face.
"Man.... that's gotta be the worst one I've ever heard." he finally
replied, looking at her through a squint and swiping at his cheeks
with his hands.
"Hey I made it up on the spot. Gimme a little credit for comin' up
with anything at all."
"True. Hey, it's really good to see you. What's all that stuff?"
"Yours is what it is. Get-well cards, notes, e-mails... you'll be
busy for a while." she warned, carefully depositing the pile on his
bedside table. He pulled one or two out and examined them briefly
then stared at the rest.
"Wow. This many people care if I kicked the bucket or not? Cool..."
"Greg!"
"I didn't mean... that came out wrong. I was just surprised, that's
all. I guess you never know how many lives you touch until something
like this happens, huh?"
"No... I guess you don't. Grissom sent a personal message of his own,
by the way."
"He did not."
"I know, hard to believe, but he said to tell you that we miss you."
Greg paused then repeated himself.
"He did not. Wait, he really did?"
"Yeah, God's honest truth."
For a long moment, Sara was silent, privately examining her thoughts
and pondering whether she had the courage, or foolishness, to speak
them out loud. Eventually, she breathed deeply and shoved her usual
reticence aside, sensing that Greg needed to hear what she was
thinking, even if her instinct was to keep it to herself. "What you
said about touching people... it's true. You may feel invisible,
or.... or two inches tall sometimes... and I'm sorry if I ever made
you feel that way, but... you're not. You're one of the best I've
ever seen in the lab and what you do... it makes a difference.
There've been cases where DNA was all we had, and you... you kicked
ass and gave peace to a lotta victim's families. A bunch of the cards
and stuff are from them. I guess they saw in the paper.... wanted to
tell you how they felt. So don't ever think nobody gives a damn,
okay? You got all the proof you need." she finished, slapping the
stack of paper.
"Sara..."
"Anyway, I've only got about another hour. Let's open some a'these
up, huh? See what people have to say."
Greg smiled and allowed her to slide out of the way of any more
emotional conversation.
"Yeah. Okay..."
---------------------------
NICK:
"You do know why you're here, Mrs. Carstairs?" Brass intoned as he
leaned against a wall just behind Sheila Carstairs. The positioning
was intentional; she would be forced her to turn if she wanted to
look at him, but he could study her without moving an inch. The
gambit placed him in power, if only by a slim margin. With Nick's
help he would soon widen that gap, however.
"It's not Mrs. I told you..."
Nick spoke next, turning her attention back to him.
"We know the truth. We looked at the landlord's records. You might as
well give it up."
"Give what up? I don't know what you're talking about."
"We found these under the edge of the baseboard near your balcony."
Nick said, tossing a small evidence bag on the table between him and
his suspect. "Colored handblown glass... just like the candleholders
in your apartment."
Sheila Carstairs glanced down at the bag and then back up at Nick.
"So I dropped a candle. What about it?"
"One, I could see that being an accident, but three? That adds up to
pissed off." Brass questioned, slowly walking up behind her, now. She
began to feel hemmed in and glanced rapidly back and forth from one
man to the other.
"What are you trying to say..."
"You tell us." Nick continued. "We know what to make of what we
see.... I mean, we can put two and two together and get four just
like anybody else. But it'd really be better for you if you tell the
story."
The woman in front of him stared at him blankly for almost a minute,
then her face dissolved into a mask of fury and regret.
"You don't understand...."
"Talk to me then. Explain what happened."
"Matt... he was an asshole. He liked to think he was such a macho
man.... He brushed my violet candle holder onto the floor and cracked
it. Do you know how hard it is for even a master to create violet?!
And it wasn't a mistake... he did it deliberately because he hated
having so many candles in the house. Passive aggressive son of a..."
"We get the point. Go on."
"He walked out on the balcony afterwards like nothing had
happened.... the holder was already ruined and I was furious... I
picked it up and threw it right at his head. He must have heard me
move or seen me or something... he turned and it smashed into his
side... he yelled something obscene... I was seeing red by then so I
picked up another candle and another... the third one came a lot
closer to the target and he ducked... the damn railings are too low,
I keep telling the landlord... Matt just stumbled and... lost his
balance..."
Nick glanced at Brass, silently asking him to handle the arrest
procedure alone. His friend complied readily and Nick walked out. For
several minutes he rambled, not caring where he was going. When he
looked up again, he found himself in front of the lab. It was
momentarily empty, a rare occurrence, so he stepped through the open
doorway, looking around, but not entirely sure what he was seeking.
He walked somberly around the space, the fingers of his good hand
sliding over tables, stools and counters, his mind locked into an
image of a bleak hospital room and a frail, damaged young man. He
knew the picture wasn't the truth, but he hadn't yet found the
strength to go and see for himself, so his imagination was all he had.
The corner of a black box sticking out from under a computer station
suddenly caught his eye. Moving to check it out, he found it was
Greg's workplace music stash; a small inexpensive CD player and a few
disks nestled into a padded plastic case. Looking over his shoulder,
sure he was about to get caught, Nick rapidly flipped through the
music, stopping when a certain band name and album title showed up.
He had been dying to hear a particular song ever since Greg had been
attacked, and the conversation he'd had with Sara earlier had only
made the craving worse. Of course, he possessed nothing by the group
in his own collection and the radio seemed to be intentionally trying
to frustrate him by also refusing to play the song, even when he'd
requested it.
Though it was a bit of a struggle with only one hand, he managed to
pop the CD in. Replacing the rest he grabbed the player and swiftly
left the lab, headed for the men's room. Once there, he locked
himself in a stall, dropped to the floor, slipped the headphones over
his ears and closed his eyes. By the time anyone missed him, he
thought he might be able to play the song through at least three
times, possibly more. He hoped it was more. As the soft acoustic
guitar notes filtered into his ears, he leaned his head back against
the cool porcelain, willing the rest of the world away, just for a
while.
* No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes....
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through....
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool.... *
-------------------
TWO DAYS LATER: GRISSOM'S OFFICE
"I don' c're. I w'nt him in jail!"
"I'm sorry. I don't think it warrants it and neither does
Captain Brass."
I do! I'm the one wi' th' wired jaw!"
"We've all been under tremendous strain since Greg was
attacked, especially Nick. Your provocation was just the final nudge
over a very shaky edge for him. I admit he lost control and there
will be consequences, but..."
"Wh't conshequenshes?" Hodges mumbled around the constricting
material securing his mouth.
"I've put a letter of reprimand in his file."
"Th'ts all?!"
"He'll also be forfeiting a week's pay." Grissom added,
looking slightly confused. "That's sufficient in my view."
"No it ishn't! He beat me up an' I want jushtice!"
"He didn't beat you up." Grissom corrected him, beginning to
get a little angry on Greg's behalf. He wasn't about to suggest
Hodges go see Greg and discover what real assault victims looked
like, but he was tempted to drag the man down to the morgue the next
time a woman was found beaten to death and shove the little whiner's
nose in a bit of reality. "Agreed, Nick did hit you, but, as I said,
it was provoked and I don't...."
"Pr'voked?! I can't shpeak my mind now, ish that it?!" Hodges
shot back, rising to his feet. Gil stood as well, facing down the
smaller man.
"Speak your mind; yes. Insult a hospitalized, brutalized
colleague and expect to get away with it; not on your life. You can
go now. Oh, and Hodges? I'd suggest you be very careful where and to
whom you run your mouth from now on."
"Ish that a threat, Grisshom?"
"Not at all. More like a friendly warning. There are people
in and out of this place on a regular basis who'd be more likely to
twist your head off your neck than punch you in the jaw. I just
thought you should be aware of the potential for really getting
hurt... that's all."
Hodges glared at Grissom, whirled and stalked out, his own
plans for a proper revenge already racing through his head.
---------------------------------
LATER THAT MORNING:
"Nick.... c'mon. We've been up all night, I know we're both
tired..."
Then quit tryin' to tell me what I have to do."
"Why are you even here, then? If you still refuse to go see Greg, why
the hell are you even here?"
"For you! I haven't been around much since that night an' I haven't
been much support to you... I figured I'd make it up today, but if
you're just gonna snipe at me, I'll go..."
"I'm not the one who needs the support right now! Warrick's been to
see him, David came yesterday.... hell, practically everybody, day
*and* night shift, has been in to cheer him up. Now he needs to see
you1"
"Look, just quit pushin' me, damn it! I've got my reasons...."
"The hell you do. This isn't about your issues, it's about Greg.
Frankly, I'm sick of seeing the light in his eyes go out every time
it isn't you walking through the door. Get over it and get your ass
in there, Nick!"
"I can't! Not after I let him down...."
"Let him down? Nicky, you're not making sense. How could you let him
down?"
"I backed off his case, remember? I should've been lookin' for the
guys that hurt him, but I let my past get in the way! How's he
supposed to forgive me for bein' such a coward? Huh?"
After taking a moment to breathe and temper her frustration,
Catherine laid a hand on Nick's shoulder and dropped her forehead
onto her knuckles.
"You weren't a coward. That was a choice you felt like you
had to make. Trust me, Greg has his own demons to fight, Nick. The
last thing he's thinking about are anyone else's." she told him,
raising her head a little. "I've never known you *not* to step up
when somebody needs you, damn it... and if you walk out of here now
you really will let him down."
"God... I know you're right. Is he.... are the bruises
still...."
"Of course they're still there. It hasn't been half as long
as it feels." Catherine told him quietly.
"Yeah. Seems like a month since that Thursday night." Nick
agreed, his eyes shifting to the closed door of Greg's room. "I'm
scared outta my damn mind, Cath... I don't wanna hurt him any
worse...."
"What's hurting him is thinking that you staying away means
he did something wrong... that in your eyes this was his fault
somehow."
Nick's eyes whipped back around to meet Catherine's.
"No.... God, no. He can't...."
"Then go show him it's okay. Show him *he's* okay."
Nick shifted his gaze to the door once again, closed his eyes
and swiped his functional hand over his face. Eventually, he nodded
and moved away from Catherine's comforting touch and toward Greg's
room.
Hearing a sound, Greg looked up and responded to the
tentative knock.
"C'mon in."
When he realized that the one person he'd been waiting for had
finally arrived, the younger man smiled warmly, genuine excitement
and color blossoming in his face. His initial greeting was
restrained, however, as his emotions were threatening to overwhelm
him. "Nick. Hey. I've been wondering when you'd come around."
Nick approached slowly and placed his feet cautiously as if
afraid that even the slightest jar or sudden movement would cause
further damage to his frail colleague. Finally, he reached the bed-
side chair and dropped into it.
"Yeah... been wantin' to. Sara an' I had a case....
everything's been crazy. Besides, the doctors warned us to kinda keep
it on the down-low an' not stress you out by visitin' all the time."
"Lot they know. Seein' my friends makes everything better."
"You.... you look good, an' you're soundin' stronger. Makes
things better on our end too, bud."
Glancing at Nick's cast, Greg tossed his colleague a wicked
grin.
"I heard you took out Hodges for me. Way to go, my man." Greg
complimented, raising one hand for a high five. Nick hesitated, but
acceded to his request and when the younger man didn't flinch or show
any sign of pain, Nick relaxed considerably.
"Well, I'm gonna pay for it, guaranteed, but I don't regret
it one bit. Somebody shoulda whooped that man's ass for him a long
time ago."
"Amen to that, brother."
"So... how're you feelin'?"
"Better. I managed to stay awake for two whole hours this
morning. That's a record."
"Don't go shortin' yourself on your rest just to up your
macho quotient, now. You wouldn't be sleepin' if your body didn't
need it."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do I need it?"
"Greggo..."
"No. If I can trust anybody to tell me the truth, it's you. I
know everybody else knows what happened but I can't get a straight
answer. Talk to me, Nick. Please."
"You... you hold on, okay? I'll be right back."
"Damn it, Stokes..."
"I will be back, I swear, an' I'll give you what you want.
Just hang in there...."
Stepping outside, he motioned to Catherine and Warrick, who
were standing several feet away.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"Either of you got a tape recorder on you?"
"In my glove-box. Why?" Catherine asked.
"Greg.... he's practically beggin' me to tell him the whole
story. I figure it'd be a good time to get him talkin' and see what
he remembers."
"Doctor Denson said the drug wiped out anything useful."
"About the attack, maybe, but if he can tell us about the few
hours *before*..... I mean, you said his place was a wash-out. No
notes, nothing in his day-runner or on his wall calendar...."
"Okay. We'll try, but the minute he gets upset or..."
"We can't shield him from the truth forever, Cath. Much as we
might wanna think of him as a kid, he isn't. Hasn't been since the
explosion." Warrick reminded her. "Maybe it's time."
Catherine looked suddenly desolate and defeated, but she
nodded, turned and walked off to retrieve the recorder from her car.
Nick and Warrick glanced at each other, then moved back into the room.
-------------------------------------
"Okay, Greg. Remember, anytime you feel like stopping, you
just say the word, alright? If you don't remember, that's okay. Don't
force it."
"I'm good. I can handle this. Go ahead."
Catherine breathed deeply, hit the record button and laid the
device on the tray table with the mike pointed somewhere between
herself and Greg. She stated the time and date, the purpose of the
tape and the names of the people present then turned to her subject.
"I want to you to think back to the last period of time you
remember before you woke up in the hospital. Whatever comes to your
mind, just say it. Unless I have a question, I'll try not to
interrupt."
Laying back, Greg closed his eyes and searched his memory.
"Okay.... that had to be.... oh yeah. Thursday night. I was
gettin' ready for work. A buddy of mine called... said did I wanna
come see his new place. He was havin' a few people over.... really
informal, he said. Beer an' pretzels kinda thing. I told him I
couldn't stay long.... but I said I'd go. When I got there.... he met
me at the door with a.... I think it was a margarita in his hand. He
offered me one, but I... I told him I was workin' in, like, an hour."
When she noticed his hand begin to shake slightly, Catherine
held it between both of hers and squeezed it gently.
"What was his response?"
"He walked me to this temporary bar set-up he had... said
he'd make me a... a virgin marg. I said... why not, long as I watched
him make it. I did, too.... for the first few minutes at least. Then
another friend yelled my name an' came over. I talked to him for a
minute... we hadn't seen each other in months so there was a-a lot to
catch up on. Now that I think about it.... it struck me weird at the
time, but I just... brushed it off."
"What was weird?"
"That it was just the three of us. I mean... he said 'a few'.
I guess I expected more people. Then I figured the rest'd probably
show up later.... after I left. I let it go."
Greg's voice had now begun to shake also, prompting Nick to
move swiftly to his side and lay a soothing hand on his shoulder.
Warrick strode to the other side of the bed and grasped the free
hand. Catherine opened her mouth to speak up and end the questions,
but unyielding glances from both of the other men convinced her to
stay silent and let Greg continue. "So.... we talked... then I turned
back to get my drink. It tasted okay.... not like the real thing, but
nothin's harsh like tequila. About the time I finished the drink, I
remember lookin' at my watch.... I told him I had to go. He.... he
smiled... but he didn't say anything. It was this... nasty grin. I
thought maybe he was... playin' a joke.... like puttin' milk of
magnesia in when I wasn't lookin'.... I've done that one before...."
Tears were now streaming freely down Greg's face. Catherine
grabbed a tissue from a box on the nightstand and handed it to Nick,
who began to tenderly sweep the moisture away while fighting a battle
with his own rebellious eyes.
"Go on, man. You're doin' good..." Warrick encouraged,
ducking his head to dry his cheek on his sleeve.
"I... I can't.... all I remember is I got... dizzy.... then
nauseous.... my *buddy*... had my left elbow... the other guy had the
right... they'd help me find the bathroom he said...."
Suddenly Greg's eyes popped open and he looked to Catherine, fury
warring with pain for control of his expression. "Oh God.... the salt
on the glass.... so I wouldn't taste.... What'd they do?! Cath...
what'd they do?!"
"Greg, take it easy.... it's okay..."
"No! No, damn it.... no more evasions, no more lies, no more
bullshit! What did they do to me?!"
"Greg... I'm so sorry...."
Seeing the answer in her grief-stricken eyes, Greg drew in a
long breath and released it in a howl that brought Gil Grissom and
several others scurrying from various rooms along the corridor. When
he saw three of his team members all sitting on the bed, cradling
Greg as he sobbed and wailed, he glared the responding orderlies and
nurses away from the door, stepped inside and closed it behind him.
-----------------------------
After a long stretch of time spent consoling and comforting
the young lab tech, Greg's anguish finally seemed to ease and the
quartet pulled apart a little. Gil had deliberately stayed in the
background, not wanting to disturb the group. Now he approached,
smiling compassionately. It took another few minutes for Greg to
raise his head from Nick's shoulder and acknowledge his boss'
presence.
"Grissom... how long...."
"About an hour."
Greg tugged Nick's wrist up so he could see the time then
turned back to Gil.
"Then you.... Crap, I'm sorry you had to see me go ballistic
like that...."
"No apology necessary." he replied, handing the box of
tissues to the group in general. "As for you three...."
"I know, boss, I know. We shoulda told you, but it was spur
of the moment. It just... developed." Nick explained.
Gil focused on the tape recorder lying on the table and
picked it up. The tape had long since run out, so he hit rewind
absently.
"I take it this is the interview?"
Catherine nodded.
"If you plan on listening to it have a glass of something
aggressive handy... and don't do it alone."
"Noted. Were you able to remember much, Greg?"
"Yeah.... all of it before anything happened. Doesn't make it
any less shitty."
"I know, bud. You did real good. We're all damn proud of
you." Nick praised him.
"Can I ask one more question?" Warrick requested.
"I... I guess."
"This friend you said invited you to the house warming....
what's his name?"
Greg drew and expelled a deep breath, staring at his hands,
before he found the energy or bravery to answer. When he looked up
again, the mixture of anger and sorrow was back on his face, but at a
much more restrained level.
"Brett. Brett Sawyer. The other one's name is Steve Cimino.
Grissom... I know I shouldn't ask for anything right now, but..."
"Of course you can. Whatever you need."
"Keep an eye on 'em.... but wait a couple days to bring 'em
in. I should be outta here by then."
"Greg..."
"It's okay. I know what you're thinkin' but... I don't wanna
hurt anybody. Couldn't if I tried. I just need to be there outside
the interrogation room. I wanna hear the two of them deny it.... then
see their faces when I walk in... an' I wanna be the one to hit the
play button on that tape we made today. You think you can make that
happen?"
"I sure as hell can." Gil stated firmly then turned and
walked out.
Nick looked at Warrick, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.
"You didn't believe me. I told you he swore an' you didn't
believe me..."
------------------------
ONE HOUR LATER: A LOCAL BOXING GYM
WARRICK:
His fists taped securely, drops of sweat slipping down his
face to drip off his nose and chin, Warrick braced himself on the
heavy bag and caught his breath for a moment. After leaving the
hospital, he'd initially headed for home and much needed sleep, but
soon realized the tension in his back, neck and shoulders would not
allow him to rest. It was an ache that a hot shower alone wouldn't
cure, he knew that all too well, so he chose to do something about it
instead of ignore it.
Now, he stood with his hands flat on the tough leather
surface of the object he'd been striking and kicking out at for
almost an hour, waiting for his body to tell him whether he was ready
to quit or if he could go on a little longer. Though he trained in
martial arts regularly, he only succumbed to the need for a truly
battering work-out once in a great while; only when everything looked
so wrong and so dark that it seemed there was no way he or the world
would ever find balance again.
He'd come here so often after Holly Gribbs' death, and punished his
body so harshly, that the owner, a good friend, had banned him for a
full month and told him he would not be allowed back until he sought
some kind of counseling. Seeing Greg so utterly devastated, and
knowing what the shattered young man still had to endure, had flipped
the "I need a release" switch once again, but he knew it wouldn't be
so all-consuming this time. This time, one session of pushing himself
to the absolute limit would be enough.
Straightening slowly, he wiped his hands and moved to the
small portable music system sitting on the floor. Shutting down the
CD function he switched to the radio and moved through the stations
until he heard the beginning notes of a song that fit his mood.
Moving back to stand before the bag, he bounced on the balls of his
feet for a moment, letting the music recharge him, then he resumed
his work-out.
* how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where i've become so numb without a soul
my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home...
(wake me up)
wake me up inside
wake me up inside,
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from the nothing i've become....
all this time i can't believe i couldn't see
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me
i've been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything.....
now that i know what i'm without
you can't just leave me
breathe into me and make me real....
bring me to life.... *
--------------------
THAT EVENING: 90 MINUTES BEFORE SHIFT
As she approached, Sara could hear anguished, almost enraged cries
floating down the hospital corridor. As she drew closer to Greg's
room, she realized the sounds were coming from behind his closed
door. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall a foot or so
away, desperately trying to decide if she should storm in or turn and
walk back to the elevators. Knowing all the others were already at
work, making up for time lost visiting and watching over Greg, pushed
her towards intervention. Twisting the door handle, she found two
nurses and Scott Denson hovering over Greg, trying to calm him down.
Swiftly, she approached her young friend and gripped his face
lightly, pulling his attention to her.
"Greggo! Easy… take it easy, okay? What's up?"
"Don't let 'em, Sara! They don't have any right… make 'em all go
away, please…."
"Hang on a minute. Try and take a deep breath. Better. Doc? What's
goin' on?"
"I need to examine his surgery site. Understandably… he's reluctant."
Denson's hesitation told Sara all she needed to know. She blanched
for a moment, but rapidly pulled herself together, acknowledging that
she was the only help available to get Greg through what promised to
be a difficult procedure. An old, unwelcome memory drifted up from a
dark pool at the back of her mind and, despite how much the prospect
angered and frightened her, she knew it was the right time and place
to resurrect a personal coping tool and pass it on to Greg.
"Greg…. take my hands, okay? Hold onto my hands… an' close your eyes.
Close 'em real tight. Don't think about what he's doin'…" she
instructed quietly, nodding to the doctor that he should get
started. "Blank your mind, fill it up with your favorite music…
whatever it takes, don't be here. Until he's done, you just go away.
Go somewhere safe… somewhere relaxing…. Anywhere but here."
It wasn't until one of the nurses touched Sara's shoulder, alerting
her that Denson was finished, that the young woman realized she had
tightly clamped her own eyes shut as well. Slowly, she forced them
open again and silently questioned the doctor with a raised eyebrow.
"Everything looks good. He's healed much faster than I had
hoped. I'll schedule the surgery to reverse his colostomy as soon as
possible."
"Thanks, doc."
"No, thank you. If you hadn't come along, we might not have gotten
though this without using sedation. I really didn't want to do that."
"Yeah…"
"Miss… Sidle, is it?"
"Uh-huh." She responded, suddenly wary.
"If you ever want to talk to someone about where and how you learned
that technique, I could give you some names. Very kind, sensitive
people… good listeners. Total confidentiality."
"No."
"I get it. Loud and clear. You'll be here for a while? He's going to
need someone to talk to until he can decompress."
"For a while, yeah."
"Great. Good-night Miss Sidle."
"Night. Hey. You can come back now, Greg. It's over an' done.
Denson's gone, the nurses are outta here… it's just you an' me. Time
to open your eyes."
Concern welled up in Sara when Greg would neither speak nor
move. "Greg, don't do this. I know it's harsh out here, but wherever
you went, you can't hide there forever. It doesn't work that way, ya
know? Life an' all the shit that goes with it will still be here
waiting. C'mon, damn it…" she exhorted, touching his face and shaking
him lightly. Finally he murmured a word or two.
"No… better here."
Unbidden tears threatened to spill down Sara's face, but she fought
them and concentrated on pulling Greg back to reality.
"I know. I've got my own quiet place… talk to me, okay? Tell me where
you are."
"Don't know. It's warm, bright, peaceful…it's better."
"Seems that way sometimes… bud, you've just gotta trust me on this…
your own head can be a lousy place to run and hide. The longer you
stay, the harder it is to come back. It's bright now, but it's gonna
get dark eventually and you can get lost so easy… Don't get lost,
Greg. Open your eyes…."
Greg was silent for several more minutes, but eventually he asked a
question that gave Sara hope that she might get him back.
"They're really all gone?"
"Really. No doctor, no nurses."
"You swear?"
The raw pain in his voice came very close to breaking Sara's tight
rein on her emotions, but she dug in and remained composed somehow.
"I swear, an' you know I wouldn't lie, right? It's safe now."
Slowly, grudgingly, Greg opened his eyes and gazed quickly around the
room. When he realized that she was indeed telling the truth, he
breathed out heavily and his companion could almost see the tension
leaving him.
"Thank God… Look, can you stay? I'll probably sleep, but… just 'till
I do…"
"You know it. I'll be right here."
"Sara… what you did for me…"
"Don't, okay? The point is it helped, right?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Greg. Forget it. It doesn't mean anything. I probably read it in
some psych journal years ago."
He stared deeply into her eyes, trying to read her, but she had
retreated behind her habitual steel-reinforced concrete mask.
Concerned, but afraid she would leave, he decided not to push her any
further.
"Probably. Anyway… thanks." he said quietly, allowing his eyes to
slip closed again.
"Okay. You just get some sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere."
---------------------------------
45 MINUTES LATER: THE STATION LOCKER ROOM
Sara stood, one hand on her locker and her head bowed, focused on the
music drifting through her head. She was so intent on the melody and
lyrics that she didn't hear Nick enter. She didn't even realize she
was no longer alone until he opened his own locker, the noise
startling her out of her reverie.
"Sorry."
"It's… okay. I guess I stepped out for a second… mentally, I mean."
"No problem. We've all been doin' it." He replied easily, popping two
pain-reliever capsules into his mouth and following them with a swig
of water.
"Hand still buggin' you?"
"Off an' on. At the moment it's a headache. So… what's got you so
eager to drift away, hmmm?"
"This song…. I can't stop thinkin' about it. I heard it on the radio
the other day…. Just outta the blue, but it seemed so right for how I
was feeling at the time. It kinda… spooked me a little."
Nick's head came up and he stared at Sara, his interest suddenly
peaked.
"Yeah? What song?"
" "Full Of Grace" by Sarah Mclachlan."
"I know it. Beautiful lyrics. Really sad though…"
"Maybe. Like I said… it fit the moment."
Nick was silent for a long moment. He took another quick sip of water
then closed his locker door. His expression was unfocused for a few
seconds then he seemed to come to a decision.
" "Behind Blue Eyes". " he stated quietly before turning to walk away.
"Wait…. what?"
"Happened to me too. I wanted to hear The Who so bad… I finally went
and borrowed the CD from Greg's stash in the lab. Spent about half an
hour listenin' to it over and over…"
"Makes you wonder. You don't think…"
"You got your assignment yet?"
"Yeah. I'm on a department store robbery with Catherine."
"You ask her… I'll ask Grissom and Warrick."
"Okay. Wouldn't it just be the weirdest thing ever…"
"Yeah."
After sharing a final glance and a smile, the two left the locker
room, headed in separate directions.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Shifting the shopping bag she carried from one hand to the
other, Catherine knocked quietly on the door to Greg's room. When he
responded, she slipped inside, set down her burden and moved to
gently embrace him.
"Hi, kiddo. You look better today."
"I'm awake. That's a big deal, believe me. Talk fast, 'cause
I might not stay that way long." He joked faintly, shifting position
and grimacing at the pain caused by the movement. As she dropped into
the bedside chair, Cath frowned in sympathy and reached out for his
hand. He clasped her fingers gratefully and sighed.
"Do you want me to call a nurse?"
"No. No way.... It's not that bad." He told her, suddenly
nervous.
"But if you're in pain...."
"Forget it, okay? I don't want the meds unless I really need 'em.
They knock me out and... I don't like how it feels."
"You need your rest, though. How else is your body supposed to heal?"
"I know. It's.... I just feel weird about the drugs. I can't explain
it. Hey, what's in the bag?" he asked, finally spotting the item by
the door and happy to have a change of subject.
"I stopped by your place on the way over and grabbed a few
things. I got your book from your nightstand, your portable CD player
and a few disks.... mostly stuff I thought would boost your spirits a
little."
"Wow. Thanks. I won't be able to take advantage of any of it
for a day or two, but.... it means a lot that you thought about me."
"Of course I was thinking about you. Everybody at work is.
You should be drowning in get well cards any minute now."
Abruptly, Greg's expression darkened. For a moment, he turned
his eyes away from Catherine's and when he looked at her again, she
saw desolation and confusion.
"What? What is it? Are you worried if you'll be okay? I
promise, you will. It'll take a few days, but you'll be just
fine...."
"It's not that. Cath.... what happened? Was it the lab again?"
"No. Nothing like that..."
"If it was my fault this time, you can tell me. If I'm in
trouble I'd rather know now...."
"Greg, you're not in trouble. It's alright. Someone hurt
you.... beat you pretty badly. We don't know who yet, but we're
working on it and we *will* find them. Count on it."
"So... I have a job to go back to? I didn't mess up?"
"God, no, Greg. Everything at work is fine. Your job will be
waiting when you're better."
"Gris isn't mad that I missed my shift Thursday?" he asked,
sitting forward slightly.
"He was worried, yeah, but he wasn't mad. I mean, as far as being on
time, you're Old Faithful. When you didn't show we all got concerned,
but nobody's angry with you, least of all Gil. Trust me, everything's
alright."
The tension flowed out of Greg and his shoulders dropped visibly as
he lay back, closing his eyes.
"Okay. Okay, that's good.... I'm just so glad to hear that, you know?"
Realizing Greg was shaking, Cath gripped his hand a little tighter.
"Hey... you were really wound up over that, weren't you? You
seriously thought..."
".... that I was unemployed and soon to be homeless? Yeah, I guess
so." He joked weakly.
"Greg.... I'm so sorry. It hasn't been that long since... since the
assault and none of us were really sure what you were ready to hear."
"No problem. The way I'm feelin' right now.... maybe you're right to
wonder. Hey... what CD's did you bring?"
Catherine rose, retrieved the bag and returned, pulling out the
player and disks. She recited the titles as she flipped through the
cases.
"Kenny G, Journey, Metallica, Limp Bizkit and all the Animaniacs
albums I could find. You do know you have way too many of those for a
grown man, right?" Catherine asked, laughing.
"You only say that 'cause you've never heard the music. Here, you
take this one home and listen to it. Don't play it straight through
from beginning to end, though. First play ' The Quiet Song ', then
switch it to ' I'm Mad '. I swear, it'll remind you of every family
road trip you ever tried to survive." He assured her, stifling a
yawn. "Damn it, I'm fadin' out already...."
"Go ahead and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"You sure? You don't have to...."
"I want to. Go on. Close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere."
"Hmmm... thanks. Bein' alone.... makes me jumpy.... better to know
someone's around...." he admitted as he slipped into sleep.
Catherine's brow furrowed as she pondered his words and thought about
how much worse his nerves would get when he discovered what had
really happened to him.
--------------------
TWO HOURS LATER
When Greg next opened his eyes, he smiled when he found Catherine had
kept her promise. She was deeply slouched in the hard plastic
visitor's chair by his bed, on the point of dozing off herself.
"Cath..."
"Hmm? Oh... sorry. Didn't mean to conk out on you. Since you were
hurt... it's been a rough couple days for all of us."
"It's okay. You should go home... get some real sleep."
"No way. I said I'd stay with you and I will. I'll even read to you
if you want."
Greg suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"See, it's... it's not that I don't want you here. Like I said, it
makes me feel a lot better knowing I'm not alone. It's just... the
nurse is gonna be here any minute... to change the stupid bag...."
Her gaze slipping briefly down to the lump under the covers that
represented the temporary colostomy, Catherine understood his
reluctance for her to be in the room.
"Oh. Embarrassing, huh?"
"You have *no* idea."
"I get it. I can find somewhere else to be until she's done."
"You don't..."
"Greggo, quit with the 'I'm so strong' routine, okay? You don't have
to be. I give you my permission to fall on the floor, kick your feet
and scream "It's not fair!" at the top of your lungs if that's what
you feel like doing."
A single tear escaping his rigid control, Greg stared up at her and
replied so quietly Catherine almost couldn't hear him.
"Cath... don't give me any ideas."
"Greg..."
"You better go. If you really do feel like comin' back, it usually
takes about half an hour."
"Okay. Thirty minutes. You can time me." she responded tensely as she
left.
Catherine roamed the halls with a half full cup of coffee for most of
the half-hour, viewing the babies in the nursery and reveling in
memories of Lindsey when she was a newborn. She checked her watch
frequently, determined she would not let Greg down by being even a
few seconds late. When she did return, almost exactly on time, she
found her fears were unfounded. Warrick, also on a day off, had
arrived to spend some time with Greg as well. Her was perched on the
edge of the bed with his back to her, quietly talking with the
younger man. Hearing her footsteps, he half turned and greeted her
with a smile.
"There she is. Hey, Cath"
"Hi. Didn't expect to see you today."
"I know. I just.... thought I'd come see how he's doin'."
"How about that, kiddo. More company than you can shake a stick at."
Catherine chuckled as she moved for the visitor's chair again. Greg
held up a hand.
"Cath... it's okay. Go home and catch up on your sleep. You won't be
any good tomorrow if you don't."
"Are you sure? I can stay...."
"Positive. Warrick's here. I'll be okay. Tell you something, though.
If Sarah shows up in a couple hours I'm gonna think this is a
conspiracy."
"Sarah's workin' today."
Greg grimaced.
"On a Sunday? Damn...."
"She says she needs the overtime. I think it's more like kissing
butt." Warrick joked. Assured that Greg was comfortable with the
situation, Catherine slipped back out as the conversation really got
going and took the elevator back down to her car.
--------------------------
SARA
Clicking the camera shutter over and over, Sara felt eyes on her back
and shrugged off the crawling sensation along her spine. Many of the
officers and techs moving around the crime scene seemed to know she
didn't have to be working on a Sunday and, combined with the general
knowledge that something horrible had happened to someone she knew
well, she felt they were judging her for being there at all. Pulling
her mind back to her current task, she focused more intently and
determinedly ignored the glances and frowns sent her way. Noone
understood and she didn't feel like taking the time to explain.
She'd been through too many tragic situations in her life; so many
that she found she was no longer able to react the way others did.
While those around her sobbed, gasped and embraced, she held back and
stepped back, feeling only discomfort and a need for distance. She
cared for and about Greg and she suffered with him more than any of
the others would ever realize, but her emotions were walled up,
shoved so deep for so long they no longer knew how to navigate the
snarled, complex maze that would lead them to the surface.
Rising out of a deep crouch, she took a deep breath and snapped
another picture or two from different angles then dropped the camera
to her side. As Grissom moved close to begin evidence collection, she
walked away to re-pack her equipment. Catching a few notes from the
SUV radio, she paused to listen, but couldn't quite make out what the
song was, so she walked around and sat half in and half out the
driver's seat, listening intently.
* .... I feel just like I'm sinking
And I claw for solid ground
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go
If all of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
Full of grace
Full of grace
So it's better this way, I said
Having seen this place before
Where everything we said and did
Hurts us all the more
Its just that we stayed, too long
In the same old sickly skin
I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go ..... *
"Sara? I could use your help."
"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. Sorry, boss. It was... I never heard this song
before. It's really beautiful."
Grissom listened to the last strains of the tune and smiled somewhere
into the middle distance.
"Sarah Mclachlan. It is lovely. One of my favorites. I'm thinking
about Greg too. No sin in it. Just don't...."
"I know. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted. What'd you need
me for?" she asked, standing and facing the house where the victim
had been found. Once Grissom gave her another assignment, she strode
away without comment, face devoid of expression. He watched her go,
wondering for the first time if she'd learned lessons from him that
he never intended to teach.
--------------------
"Look, just shut up about it, wouldya, Sidle? I'll go when I
have the time."
"Hey, I understand. We all feel a little sick when we see
what they did to him, but..."
Nick turned his most intensely angry gaze on Sara and her
words petered out.
"You don't understand. Leave it there, 'cause if you can't...
we're gonna have a problem."
"Got it. Officially backing off."
"Good. Now, can we get moving on this? We've had this warrant
for an hour and I don't feel like givin' Mrs. Carstairs any more time
to think about our visit the other day."
"I'm sure all she's been thinking about is that grin you
threw her." Sara tossed out as they moved into the building, followed
by three uniformed officers.
"What?"
"Please! You do it every time. Beautiful female suspect,
gotta keep her from getting suspicious before we have our evidence
together. Bam, out comes the "I'm just a sweet, non-threatening,
gorgeous hunk of cowboy" smile and her guard drops faster than a
mosquito at a reptile convention."
Nick made a half-turn away from the opening elevator doors,
crossed his arms on his chest and confronted Sara face to face.
"I do not do that."
"Hey, whatever you say, Nicky. Next time the situation comes
up an' I'm the one with the camera...." she teased as she stepped in.
He followed a few seconds later, his expression rapidly darkening.
"I don't flirt with suspects. Not even pretty ones." he
insisted.
"Did I say it was flirting? So you've got an incredible
smile. It's a tool you use to get the job done. Whatever works...."
"Yeah... maybe." he murmured, his mind suddenly far away.
When they reached the second floor a minute or so later, Sara
tried to keep the teasing going, but Nick didn't respond. Silent, he
moved directly to the door of the apartment and knocked. When it
opened, the shock on the face of Sheila Carstairs was clear.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Ms. Carstairs? Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas crime lab. We
met before?"
"Oh... Oh, yes. Well, I don't know what more I can do for
you..."
"You can wait in the hall with these officers while we search
your apartment."
"I don't think..."
"We have a warrant. If you'll step aside..."
Dumbfounded, the woman sidestepped into the hall, allowing
Nick and Sara to enter. Throughout the hour or so it took for the
pair to collect all the evidence they needed, the younger woman tried
repeatedly to re-establish the easy rapport they usually had with
each other, but her partner refused to even speak, remaining distant
and close-mouthed. When they'd finished, Nick left first, directing
one of the officers to bring Sheila Carstairs to the station for
questioning. Sara watched him go with a confused expression, but soon
trailed behind, reaching the SUV a few minutes after he did.
"Nick, say something, damn it. I wasn't trying to bust your
balls. I was playin', you know... bein' me."
"I know, Sara. It's not really anything you did. Sometimes...
I think too much. Let it go, okay?"
"Yeah... okay."
------------------------------
----
THIRTY MINUTES LATER: THE STATION
"Whoa. Twenty-three cards already." Warrick commented softly,
looking through the pile of envelopes designated for delivery to Greg.
"And at least half that many e-mails. I think my printer ran
for forty minutes straight. I may have to replace the cartridge."
Grissom replied, neatening the stack of papers and adding them to the
cards.
"Still nothing on who might have attacked Greg?"
"No. No leads yet."
"And he doesn't remember anything?"
"I haven't asked him and I'm not letting anyone else do it
either."
"We need a starting point at least. I know he's still
hurting, but if he can give us that..."
"No. The first move has to be his. He'll let us know when
he's ready."
"And if the bastards vanish in the mean-time?"
"I highly doubt they will. This assault feels personal, Warrick. They
could have dumped him in the street or chosen not to move him at all.
Instead, they left him in the most degrading condition imaginable and
made sure he'd be found. That's a grudge. "
"And if they're sick enough to do it that way, they'll wanna stick
close to see his pain."
"Advantage to the good guys. Once Greg is able to look at what's left
of his memories from that night, if he can give us anything helpful
his attackers probably won't be hard to find."
"The only problem will be keepin' half the department from beatin'
the perps heads through the floor." Warrick said grimly as he
gathered the cards and notes and rose to his feet.
"Mmmm. One reason I'll be keeping strictly out of the way when
they're brought in." Grissom mumbled, head down as he focused on
paperwork.
"Yeah.... if there was any situation I can see you givin' somebody a
beat down, it'd be this one."
Gil looked up with a small smile.
"Don't spread it around. I have a reputation to think about."
"Icewater in the veins. Gotcha." he confirmed, turning to leave and
halting to listen to the end of an argument.
"Brass an' I can handle Carstairs. Take the time an' go see him
before you get another assignment. If it gets busy, you might not get
a chance."
"Grissom'll kick my ass if he finds out."
"If you were playin' miniature golf or goin' for ice cream, yeah, but
not for this. He'll understand an' you know it."
"Nick's right, girl. Take lunch a little early. Trust me, seein' his
face when you give him these... it'll be worth it." Warrick urged,
handing her the collection of support and good wishes he
carried. "Tell him more are comin' in every day."
"Wow. Maybe..."
Looking at her watch, Sara realized how close to lunch it actually
was and that decided her. Smiling at the men, she stepped around them
and addressed her boss.
"Grissom? If it's okay, I'm gonna head out for lunch a few minutes
early. I thought I'd go see how Greg's feeling... deliver his cards
and stuff."
"How are you and Nick coming on the Carstairs case?"
"Evidence is being processed, the wife's in a room waiting on Brass
and Nicky to talk to her."
"Look solid?"
"Rock of Gibraltar."
"Okay. Go ahead. No more than two hours, though."
Sara's eyes widened at the doubling of her normal lunch period.
"Thanks. I'll make it up at the end of shift." she responded,
grinning.
"That's fine. Tell him we miss him."
The further shock of the stoic Grissom making such a statement
threatened to knock Sara over backwards, but she recovered quickly.
"Yeah... I will. Thanks again." she said as she backed away.
"No problem."
--------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?" Greg answered, a weary grin lighting up his face.
"Cheese"
"Cheese who?" he bantered back as Sara moved to his side.
"Cheese, aren't you outta the hospital yet?"
Greg squeezed his eyes shut and laughed quietly until tears of joy
rolled down his face.
"Man.... that's gotta be the worst one I've ever heard." he finally
replied, looking at her through a squint and swiping at his cheeks
with his hands.
"Hey I made it up on the spot. Gimme a little credit for comin' up
with anything at all."
"True. Hey, it's really good to see you. What's all that stuff?"
"Yours is what it is. Get-well cards, notes, e-mails... you'll be
busy for a while." she warned, carefully depositing the pile on his
bedside table. He pulled one or two out and examined them briefly
then stared at the rest.
"Wow. This many people care if I kicked the bucket or not? Cool..."
"Greg!"
"I didn't mean... that came out wrong. I was just surprised, that's
all. I guess you never know how many lives you touch until something
like this happens, huh?"
"No... I guess you don't. Grissom sent a personal message of his own,
by the way."
"He did not."
"I know, hard to believe, but he said to tell you that we miss you."
Greg paused then repeated himself.
"He did not. Wait, he really did?"
"Yeah, God's honest truth."
For a long moment, Sara was silent, privately examining her thoughts
and pondering whether she had the courage, or foolishness, to speak
them out loud. Eventually, she breathed deeply and shoved her usual
reticence aside, sensing that Greg needed to hear what she was
thinking, even if her instinct was to keep it to herself. "What you
said about touching people... it's true. You may feel invisible,
or.... or two inches tall sometimes... and I'm sorry if I ever made
you feel that way, but... you're not. You're one of the best I've
ever seen in the lab and what you do... it makes a difference.
There've been cases where DNA was all we had, and you... you kicked
ass and gave peace to a lotta victim's families. A bunch of the cards
and stuff are from them. I guess they saw in the paper.... wanted to
tell you how they felt. So don't ever think nobody gives a damn,
okay? You got all the proof you need." she finished, slapping the
stack of paper.
"Sara..."
"Anyway, I've only got about another hour. Let's open some a'these
up, huh? See what people have to say."
Greg smiled and allowed her to slide out of the way of any more
emotional conversation.
"Yeah. Okay..."
---------------------------
NICK:
"You do know why you're here, Mrs. Carstairs?" Brass intoned as he
leaned against a wall just behind Sheila Carstairs. The positioning
was intentional; she would be forced her to turn if she wanted to
look at him, but he could study her without moving an inch. The
gambit placed him in power, if only by a slim margin. With Nick's
help he would soon widen that gap, however.
"It's not Mrs. I told you..."
Nick spoke next, turning her attention back to him.
"We know the truth. We looked at the landlord's records. You might as
well give it up."
"Give what up? I don't know what you're talking about."
"We found these under the edge of the baseboard near your balcony."
Nick said, tossing a small evidence bag on the table between him and
his suspect. "Colored handblown glass... just like the candleholders
in your apartment."
Sheila Carstairs glanced down at the bag and then back up at Nick.
"So I dropped a candle. What about it?"
"One, I could see that being an accident, but three? That adds up to
pissed off." Brass questioned, slowly walking up behind her, now. She
began to feel hemmed in and glanced rapidly back and forth from one
man to the other.
"What are you trying to say..."
"You tell us." Nick continued. "We know what to make of what we
see.... I mean, we can put two and two together and get four just
like anybody else. But it'd really be better for you if you tell the
story."
The woman in front of him stared at him blankly for almost a minute,
then her face dissolved into a mask of fury and regret.
"You don't understand...."
"Talk to me then. Explain what happened."
"Matt... he was an asshole. He liked to think he was such a macho
man.... He brushed my violet candle holder onto the floor and cracked
it. Do you know how hard it is for even a master to create violet?!
And it wasn't a mistake... he did it deliberately because he hated
having so many candles in the house. Passive aggressive son of a..."
"We get the point. Go on."
"He walked out on the balcony afterwards like nothing had
happened.... the holder was already ruined and I was furious... I
picked it up and threw it right at his head. He must have heard me
move or seen me or something... he turned and it smashed into his
side... he yelled something obscene... I was seeing red by then so I
picked up another candle and another... the third one came a lot
closer to the target and he ducked... the damn railings are too low,
I keep telling the landlord... Matt just stumbled and... lost his
balance..."
Nick glanced at Brass, silently asking him to handle the arrest
procedure alone. His friend complied readily and Nick walked out. For
several minutes he rambled, not caring where he was going. When he
looked up again, he found himself in front of the lab. It was
momentarily empty, a rare occurrence, so he stepped through the open
doorway, looking around, but not entirely sure what he was seeking.
He walked somberly around the space, the fingers of his good hand
sliding over tables, stools and counters, his mind locked into an
image of a bleak hospital room and a frail, damaged young man. He
knew the picture wasn't the truth, but he hadn't yet found the
strength to go and see for himself, so his imagination was all he had.
The corner of a black box sticking out from under a computer station
suddenly caught his eye. Moving to check it out, he found it was
Greg's workplace music stash; a small inexpensive CD player and a few
disks nestled into a padded plastic case. Looking over his shoulder,
sure he was about to get caught, Nick rapidly flipped through the
music, stopping when a certain band name and album title showed up.
He had been dying to hear a particular song ever since Greg had been
attacked, and the conversation he'd had with Sara earlier had only
made the craving worse. Of course, he possessed nothing by the group
in his own collection and the radio seemed to be intentionally trying
to frustrate him by also refusing to play the song, even when he'd
requested it.
Though it was a bit of a struggle with only one hand, he managed to
pop the CD in. Replacing the rest he grabbed the player and swiftly
left the lab, headed for the men's room. Once there, he locked
himself in a stall, dropped to the floor, slipped the headphones over
his ears and closed his eyes. By the time anyone missed him, he
thought he might be able to play the song through at least three
times, possibly more. He hoped it was more. As the soft acoustic
guitar notes filtered into his ears, he leaned his head back against
the cool porcelain, willing the rest of the world away, just for a
while.
* No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes....
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through....
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool.... *
-------------------
TWO DAYS LATER: GRISSOM'S OFFICE
"I don' c're. I w'nt him in jail!"
"I'm sorry. I don't think it warrants it and neither does
Captain Brass."
I do! I'm the one wi' th' wired jaw!"
"We've all been under tremendous strain since Greg was
attacked, especially Nick. Your provocation was just the final nudge
over a very shaky edge for him. I admit he lost control and there
will be consequences, but..."
"Wh't conshequenshes?" Hodges mumbled around the constricting
material securing his mouth.
"I've put a letter of reprimand in his file."
"Th'ts all?!"
"He'll also be forfeiting a week's pay." Grissom added,
looking slightly confused. "That's sufficient in my view."
"No it ishn't! He beat me up an' I want jushtice!"
"He didn't beat you up." Grissom corrected him, beginning to
get a little angry on Greg's behalf. He wasn't about to suggest
Hodges go see Greg and discover what real assault victims looked
like, but he was tempted to drag the man down to the morgue the next
time a woman was found beaten to death and shove the little whiner's
nose in a bit of reality. "Agreed, Nick did hit you, but, as I said,
it was provoked and I don't...."
"Pr'voked?! I can't shpeak my mind now, ish that it?!" Hodges
shot back, rising to his feet. Gil stood as well, facing down the
smaller man.
"Speak your mind; yes. Insult a hospitalized, brutalized
colleague and expect to get away with it; not on your life. You can
go now. Oh, and Hodges? I'd suggest you be very careful where and to
whom you run your mouth from now on."
"Ish that a threat, Grisshom?"
"Not at all. More like a friendly warning. There are people
in and out of this place on a regular basis who'd be more likely to
twist your head off your neck than punch you in the jaw. I just
thought you should be aware of the potential for really getting
hurt... that's all."
Hodges glared at Grissom, whirled and stalked out, his own
plans for a proper revenge already racing through his head.
---------------------------------
LATER THAT MORNING:
"Nick.... c'mon. We've been up all night, I know we're both
tired..."
Then quit tryin' to tell me what I have to do."
"Why are you even here, then? If you still refuse to go see Greg, why
the hell are you even here?"
"For you! I haven't been around much since that night an' I haven't
been much support to you... I figured I'd make it up today, but if
you're just gonna snipe at me, I'll go..."
"I'm not the one who needs the support right now! Warrick's been to
see him, David came yesterday.... hell, practically everybody, day
*and* night shift, has been in to cheer him up. Now he needs to see
you1"
"Look, just quit pushin' me, damn it! I've got my reasons...."
"The hell you do. This isn't about your issues, it's about Greg.
Frankly, I'm sick of seeing the light in his eyes go out every time
it isn't you walking through the door. Get over it and get your ass
in there, Nick!"
"I can't! Not after I let him down...."
"Let him down? Nicky, you're not making sense. How could you let him
down?"
"I backed off his case, remember? I should've been lookin' for the
guys that hurt him, but I let my past get in the way! How's he
supposed to forgive me for bein' such a coward? Huh?"
After taking a moment to breathe and temper her frustration,
Catherine laid a hand on Nick's shoulder and dropped her forehead
onto her knuckles.
"You weren't a coward. That was a choice you felt like you
had to make. Trust me, Greg has his own demons to fight, Nick. The
last thing he's thinking about are anyone else's." she told him,
raising her head a little. "I've never known you *not* to step up
when somebody needs you, damn it... and if you walk out of here now
you really will let him down."
"God... I know you're right. Is he.... are the bruises
still...."
"Of course they're still there. It hasn't been half as long
as it feels." Catherine told him quietly.
"Yeah. Seems like a month since that Thursday night." Nick
agreed, his eyes shifting to the closed door of Greg's room. "I'm
scared outta my damn mind, Cath... I don't wanna hurt him any
worse...."
"What's hurting him is thinking that you staying away means
he did something wrong... that in your eyes this was his fault
somehow."
Nick's eyes whipped back around to meet Catherine's.
"No.... God, no. He can't...."
"Then go show him it's okay. Show him *he's* okay."
Nick shifted his gaze to the door once again, closed his eyes
and swiped his functional hand over his face. Eventually, he nodded
and moved away from Catherine's comforting touch and toward Greg's
room.
Hearing a sound, Greg looked up and responded to the
tentative knock.
"C'mon in."
When he realized that the one person he'd been waiting for had
finally arrived, the younger man smiled warmly, genuine excitement
and color blossoming in his face. His initial greeting was
restrained, however, as his emotions were threatening to overwhelm
him. "Nick. Hey. I've been wondering when you'd come around."
Nick approached slowly and placed his feet cautiously as if
afraid that even the slightest jar or sudden movement would cause
further damage to his frail colleague. Finally, he reached the bed-
side chair and dropped into it.
"Yeah... been wantin' to. Sara an' I had a case....
everything's been crazy. Besides, the doctors warned us to kinda keep
it on the down-low an' not stress you out by visitin' all the time."
"Lot they know. Seein' my friends makes everything better."
"You.... you look good, an' you're soundin' stronger. Makes
things better on our end too, bud."
Glancing at Nick's cast, Greg tossed his colleague a wicked
grin.
"I heard you took out Hodges for me. Way to go, my man." Greg
complimented, raising one hand for a high five. Nick hesitated, but
acceded to his request and when the younger man didn't flinch or show
any sign of pain, Nick relaxed considerably.
"Well, I'm gonna pay for it, guaranteed, but I don't regret
it one bit. Somebody shoulda whooped that man's ass for him a long
time ago."
"Amen to that, brother."
"So... how're you feelin'?"
"Better. I managed to stay awake for two whole hours this
morning. That's a record."
"Don't go shortin' yourself on your rest just to up your
macho quotient, now. You wouldn't be sleepin' if your body didn't
need it."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do I need it?"
"Greggo..."
"No. If I can trust anybody to tell me the truth, it's you. I
know everybody else knows what happened but I can't get a straight
answer. Talk to me, Nick. Please."
"You... you hold on, okay? I'll be right back."
"Damn it, Stokes..."
"I will be back, I swear, an' I'll give you what you want.
Just hang in there...."
Stepping outside, he motioned to Catherine and Warrick, who
were standing several feet away.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"Either of you got a tape recorder on you?"
"In my glove-box. Why?" Catherine asked.
"Greg.... he's practically beggin' me to tell him the whole
story. I figure it'd be a good time to get him talkin' and see what
he remembers."
"Doctor Denson said the drug wiped out anything useful."
"About the attack, maybe, but if he can tell us about the few
hours *before*..... I mean, you said his place was a wash-out. No
notes, nothing in his day-runner or on his wall calendar...."
"Okay. We'll try, but the minute he gets upset or..."
"We can't shield him from the truth forever, Cath. Much as we
might wanna think of him as a kid, he isn't. Hasn't been since the
explosion." Warrick reminded her. "Maybe it's time."
Catherine looked suddenly desolate and defeated, but she
nodded, turned and walked off to retrieve the recorder from her car.
Nick and Warrick glanced at each other, then moved back into the room.
-------------------------------------
"Okay, Greg. Remember, anytime you feel like stopping, you
just say the word, alright? If you don't remember, that's okay. Don't
force it."
"I'm good. I can handle this. Go ahead."
Catherine breathed deeply, hit the record button and laid the
device on the tray table with the mike pointed somewhere between
herself and Greg. She stated the time and date, the purpose of the
tape and the names of the people present then turned to her subject.
"I want to you to think back to the last period of time you
remember before you woke up in the hospital. Whatever comes to your
mind, just say it. Unless I have a question, I'll try not to
interrupt."
Laying back, Greg closed his eyes and searched his memory.
"Okay.... that had to be.... oh yeah. Thursday night. I was
gettin' ready for work. A buddy of mine called... said did I wanna
come see his new place. He was havin' a few people over.... really
informal, he said. Beer an' pretzels kinda thing. I told him I
couldn't stay long.... but I said I'd go. When I got there.... he met
me at the door with a.... I think it was a margarita in his hand. He
offered me one, but I... I told him I was workin' in, like, an hour."
When she noticed his hand begin to shake slightly, Catherine
held it between both of hers and squeezed it gently.
"What was his response?"
"He walked me to this temporary bar set-up he had... said
he'd make me a... a virgin marg. I said... why not, long as I watched
him make it. I did, too.... for the first few minutes at least. Then
another friend yelled my name an' came over. I talked to him for a
minute... we hadn't seen each other in months so there was a-a lot to
catch up on. Now that I think about it.... it struck me weird at the
time, but I just... brushed it off."
"What was weird?"
"That it was just the three of us. I mean... he said 'a few'.
I guess I expected more people. Then I figured the rest'd probably
show up later.... after I left. I let it go."
Greg's voice had now begun to shake also, prompting Nick to
move swiftly to his side and lay a soothing hand on his shoulder.
Warrick strode to the other side of the bed and grasped the free
hand. Catherine opened her mouth to speak up and end the questions,
but unyielding glances from both of the other men convinced her to
stay silent and let Greg continue. "So.... we talked... then I turned
back to get my drink. It tasted okay.... not like the real thing, but
nothin's harsh like tequila. About the time I finished the drink, I
remember lookin' at my watch.... I told him I had to go. He.... he
smiled... but he didn't say anything. It was this... nasty grin. I
thought maybe he was... playin' a joke.... like puttin' milk of
magnesia in when I wasn't lookin'.... I've done that one before...."
Tears were now streaming freely down Greg's face. Catherine
grabbed a tissue from a box on the nightstand and handed it to Nick,
who began to tenderly sweep the moisture away while fighting a battle
with his own rebellious eyes.
"Go on, man. You're doin' good..." Warrick encouraged,
ducking his head to dry his cheek on his sleeve.
"I... I can't.... all I remember is I got... dizzy.... then
nauseous.... my *buddy*... had my left elbow... the other guy had the
right... they'd help me find the bathroom he said...."
Suddenly Greg's eyes popped open and he looked to Catherine, fury
warring with pain for control of his expression. "Oh God.... the salt
on the glass.... so I wouldn't taste.... What'd they do?! Cath...
what'd they do?!"
"Greg, take it easy.... it's okay..."
"No! No, damn it.... no more evasions, no more lies, no more
bullshit! What did they do to me?!"
"Greg... I'm so sorry...."
Seeing the answer in her grief-stricken eyes, Greg drew in a
long breath and released it in a howl that brought Gil Grissom and
several others scurrying from various rooms along the corridor. When
he saw three of his team members all sitting on the bed, cradling
Greg as he sobbed and wailed, he glared the responding orderlies and
nurses away from the door, stepped inside and closed it behind him.
-----------------------------
After a long stretch of time spent consoling and comforting
the young lab tech, Greg's anguish finally seemed to ease and the
quartet pulled apart a little. Gil had deliberately stayed in the
background, not wanting to disturb the group. Now he approached,
smiling compassionately. It took another few minutes for Greg to
raise his head from Nick's shoulder and acknowledge his boss'
presence.
"Grissom... how long...."
"About an hour."
Greg tugged Nick's wrist up so he could see the time then
turned back to Gil.
"Then you.... Crap, I'm sorry you had to see me go ballistic
like that...."
"No apology necessary." he replied, handing the box of
tissues to the group in general. "As for you three...."
"I know, boss, I know. We shoulda told you, but it was spur
of the moment. It just... developed." Nick explained.
Gil focused on the tape recorder lying on the table and
picked it up. The tape had long since run out, so he hit rewind
absently.
"I take it this is the interview?"
Catherine nodded.
"If you plan on listening to it have a glass of something
aggressive handy... and don't do it alone."
"Noted. Were you able to remember much, Greg?"
"Yeah.... all of it before anything happened. Doesn't make it
any less shitty."
"I know, bud. You did real good. We're all damn proud of
you." Nick praised him.
"Can I ask one more question?" Warrick requested.
"I... I guess."
"This friend you said invited you to the house warming....
what's his name?"
Greg drew and expelled a deep breath, staring at his hands,
before he found the energy or bravery to answer. When he looked up
again, the mixture of anger and sorrow was back on his face, but at a
much more restrained level.
"Brett. Brett Sawyer. The other one's name is Steve Cimino.
Grissom... I know I shouldn't ask for anything right now, but..."
"Of course you can. Whatever you need."
"Keep an eye on 'em.... but wait a couple days to bring 'em
in. I should be outta here by then."
"Greg..."
"It's okay. I know what you're thinkin' but... I don't wanna
hurt anybody. Couldn't if I tried. I just need to be there outside
the interrogation room. I wanna hear the two of them deny it.... then
see their faces when I walk in... an' I wanna be the one to hit the
play button on that tape we made today. You think you can make that
happen?"
"I sure as hell can." Gil stated firmly then turned and
walked out.
Nick looked at Warrick, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.
"You didn't believe me. I told you he swore an' you didn't
believe me..."
------------------------
ONE HOUR LATER: A LOCAL BOXING GYM
WARRICK:
His fists taped securely, drops of sweat slipping down his
face to drip off his nose and chin, Warrick braced himself on the
heavy bag and caught his breath for a moment. After leaving the
hospital, he'd initially headed for home and much needed sleep, but
soon realized the tension in his back, neck and shoulders would not
allow him to rest. It was an ache that a hot shower alone wouldn't
cure, he knew that all too well, so he chose to do something about it
instead of ignore it.
Now, he stood with his hands flat on the tough leather
surface of the object he'd been striking and kicking out at for
almost an hour, waiting for his body to tell him whether he was ready
to quit or if he could go on a little longer. Though he trained in
martial arts regularly, he only succumbed to the need for a truly
battering work-out once in a great while; only when everything looked
so wrong and so dark that it seemed there was no way he or the world
would ever find balance again.
He'd come here so often after Holly Gribbs' death, and punished his
body so harshly, that the owner, a good friend, had banned him for a
full month and told him he would not be allowed back until he sought
some kind of counseling. Seeing Greg so utterly devastated, and
knowing what the shattered young man still had to endure, had flipped
the "I need a release" switch once again, but he knew it wouldn't be
so all-consuming this time. This time, one session of pushing himself
to the absolute limit would be enough.
Straightening slowly, he wiped his hands and moved to the
small portable music system sitting on the floor. Shutting down the
CD function he switched to the radio and moved through the stations
until he heard the beginning notes of a song that fit his mood.
Moving back to stand before the bag, he bounced on the balls of his
feet for a moment, letting the music recharge him, then he resumed
his work-out.
* how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where i've become so numb without a soul
my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home...
(wake me up)
wake me up inside
wake me up inside,
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from the nothing i've become....
all this time i can't believe i couldn't see
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me
i've been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything.....
now that i know what i'm without
you can't just leave me
breathe into me and make me real....
bring me to life.... *
--------------------
THAT EVENING: 90 MINUTES BEFORE SHIFT
As she approached, Sara could hear anguished, almost enraged cries
floating down the hospital corridor. As she drew closer to Greg's
room, she realized the sounds were coming from behind his closed
door. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall a foot or so
away, desperately trying to decide if she should storm in or turn and
walk back to the elevators. Knowing all the others were already at
work, making up for time lost visiting and watching over Greg, pushed
her towards intervention. Twisting the door handle, she found two
nurses and Scott Denson hovering over Greg, trying to calm him down.
Swiftly, she approached her young friend and gripped his face
lightly, pulling his attention to her.
"Greggo! Easy… take it easy, okay? What's up?"
"Don't let 'em, Sara! They don't have any right… make 'em all go
away, please…."
"Hang on a minute. Try and take a deep breath. Better. Doc? What's
goin' on?"
"I need to examine his surgery site. Understandably… he's reluctant."
Denson's hesitation told Sara all she needed to know. She blanched
for a moment, but rapidly pulled herself together, acknowledging that
she was the only help available to get Greg through what promised to
be a difficult procedure. An old, unwelcome memory drifted up from a
dark pool at the back of her mind and, despite how much the prospect
angered and frightened her, she knew it was the right time and place
to resurrect a personal coping tool and pass it on to Greg.
"Greg…. take my hands, okay? Hold onto my hands… an' close your eyes.
Close 'em real tight. Don't think about what he's doin'…" she
instructed quietly, nodding to the doctor that he should get
started. "Blank your mind, fill it up with your favorite music…
whatever it takes, don't be here. Until he's done, you just go away.
Go somewhere safe… somewhere relaxing…. Anywhere but here."
It wasn't until one of the nurses touched Sara's shoulder, alerting
her that Denson was finished, that the young woman realized she had
tightly clamped her own eyes shut as well. Slowly, she forced them
open again and silently questioned the doctor with a raised eyebrow.
"Everything looks good. He's healed much faster than I had
hoped. I'll schedule the surgery to reverse his colostomy as soon as
possible."
"Thanks, doc."
"No, thank you. If you hadn't come along, we might not have gotten
though this without using sedation. I really didn't want to do that."
"Yeah…"
"Miss… Sidle, is it?"
"Uh-huh." She responded, suddenly wary.
"If you ever want to talk to someone about where and how you learned
that technique, I could give you some names. Very kind, sensitive
people… good listeners. Total confidentiality."
"No."
"I get it. Loud and clear. You'll be here for a while? He's going to
need someone to talk to until he can decompress."
"For a while, yeah."
"Great. Good-night Miss Sidle."
"Night. Hey. You can come back now, Greg. It's over an' done.
Denson's gone, the nurses are outta here… it's just you an' me. Time
to open your eyes."
Concern welled up in Sara when Greg would neither speak nor
move. "Greg, don't do this. I know it's harsh out here, but wherever
you went, you can't hide there forever. It doesn't work that way, ya
know? Life an' all the shit that goes with it will still be here
waiting. C'mon, damn it…" she exhorted, touching his face and shaking
him lightly. Finally he murmured a word or two.
"No… better here."
Unbidden tears threatened to spill down Sara's face, but she fought
them and concentrated on pulling Greg back to reality.
"I know. I've got my own quiet place… talk to me, okay? Tell me where
you are."
"Don't know. It's warm, bright, peaceful…it's better."
"Seems that way sometimes… bud, you've just gotta trust me on this…
your own head can be a lousy place to run and hide. The longer you
stay, the harder it is to come back. It's bright now, but it's gonna
get dark eventually and you can get lost so easy… Don't get lost,
Greg. Open your eyes…."
Greg was silent for several more minutes, but eventually he asked a
question that gave Sara hope that she might get him back.
"They're really all gone?"
"Really. No doctor, no nurses."
"You swear?"
The raw pain in his voice came very close to breaking Sara's tight
rein on her emotions, but she dug in and remained composed somehow.
"I swear, an' you know I wouldn't lie, right? It's safe now."
Slowly, grudgingly, Greg opened his eyes and gazed quickly around the
room. When he realized that she was indeed telling the truth, he
breathed out heavily and his companion could almost see the tension
leaving him.
"Thank God… Look, can you stay? I'll probably sleep, but… just 'till
I do…"
"You know it. I'll be right here."
"Sara… what you did for me…"
"Don't, okay? The point is it helped, right?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Greg. Forget it. It doesn't mean anything. I probably read it in
some psych journal years ago."
He stared deeply into her eyes, trying to read her, but she had
retreated behind her habitual steel-reinforced concrete mask.
Concerned, but afraid she would leave, he decided not to push her any
further.
"Probably. Anyway… thanks." he said quietly, allowing his eyes to
slip closed again.
"Okay. You just get some sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere."
---------------------------------
45 MINUTES LATER: THE STATION LOCKER ROOM
Sara stood, one hand on her locker and her head bowed, focused on the
music drifting through her head. She was so intent on the melody and
lyrics that she didn't hear Nick enter. She didn't even realize she
was no longer alone until he opened his own locker, the noise
startling her out of her reverie.
"Sorry."
"It's… okay. I guess I stepped out for a second… mentally, I mean."
"No problem. We've all been doin' it." He replied easily, popping two
pain-reliever capsules into his mouth and following them with a swig
of water.
"Hand still buggin' you?"
"Off an' on. At the moment it's a headache. So… what's got you so
eager to drift away, hmmm?"
"This song…. I can't stop thinkin' about it. I heard it on the radio
the other day…. Just outta the blue, but it seemed so right for how I
was feeling at the time. It kinda… spooked me a little."
Nick's head came up and he stared at Sara, his interest suddenly
peaked.
"Yeah? What song?"
" "Full Of Grace" by Sarah Mclachlan."
"I know it. Beautiful lyrics. Really sad though…"
"Maybe. Like I said… it fit the moment."
Nick was silent for a long moment. He took another quick sip of water
then closed his locker door. His expression was unfocused for a few
seconds then he seemed to come to a decision.
" "Behind Blue Eyes". " he stated quietly before turning to walk away.
"Wait…. what?"
"Happened to me too. I wanted to hear The Who so bad… I finally went
and borrowed the CD from Greg's stash in the lab. Spent about half an
hour listenin' to it over and over…"
"Makes you wonder. You don't think…"
"You got your assignment yet?"
"Yeah. I'm on a department store robbery with Catherine."
"You ask her… I'll ask Grissom and Warrick."
"Okay. Wouldn't it just be the weirdest thing ever…"
"Yeah."
After sharing a final glance and a smile, the two left the locker
room, headed in separate directions.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
7:30 A.M.
"Greg? Calm down… slow… talk slower, I can't understand you.
Okay… Okay, I'll be there. No, I'm off shift, it's fine. Yeah, I was
on my way home… Forget it, you're way more important, you know that.
Fifteen minutes. Alright…. I'm on my way, kiddo. Hang in there, okay?
Good. Bye."
---------------------
When Catherine arrived at the hospital she was stunned to
find Greg not only on his feet but pacing up and back along the near
side of his bed. It was obvious every shuffling step was causing him
pain, but he pushed on. His expression radiated fury and frustration,
but that didn't keep Catherine away. She immediately ran to his side
and halted him, holding fast even when he tried to pull out of her
grip.
"Greg! My God how did you manage to… does the staff know
you're out of bed?"
"I don't care… I don't care, I don't care, I don't care…" he
mumbled angrily, refusing to look at her.
"Greg, sit down."
"No! I can't… have to figure out what to do… have to think…"
he insisted. His struggle continued until Catherine grabbed his chin
and pulled his head around, forcing him to see her.
"Greg! Stop! Just for a minute… sit down and tell me what the
hell happened…"
Finally, Greg tore his arm free, but he also acceded to his
friend's request and dropped to the edge of the bed. She sat beside
him, touching his hair and stroking his hands, hoping to calm
him. "Better. Now… talk to me, baby. What's going on?"
"It's him… you have to tell him… make him understand…"
"Make who understand what?"
"Denson! He won't let me go to the interrogation! I tried to
tell him I'd come back after, but… he says it's impossible. Bastard…"
"Did he give you a reason? Do you have a secondary infection,
or…"
"Oh, no. *That* I could understand. He said I'm healing
better than he thought I would."
"Then what's the problem?"
"He scheduled my second surgery for today… to reverse the
colostomy. He says I'll be in no shape to go anywhere after that…
that's not what pissed me off though. He says… once I've had a couple
days to recover… he's transferring me upstairs. Got it all set up…
thinks he can control me… thinks he can just say jump… son of a bitch
has a surprise comin', *that* I guarantee…"
"Greg, I don't understand. What's upstairs?"
He gazed at her, anger slowly fading only to be replaced by
apprehension and tears.
"The pysch ward… he wants to shove me in the freaking psych
ward for a whole week… he can't just do that, can he, Cath? I didn't
say he could do that…"
"No… no, I don't think he can… not if you don't want it." She
reassured him as she wrapped one arm around him and pulled him close.
"Intensive inpatient therapy he called it… says I need to…
talk to somebody. About what? I don't remember anything… the damn GHB
took it all away…"
"I know… shhh. It'll be okay. I'll track him down and
straighten this all out. We've got time… Brass won't even pick up
Sawyer and Cimino until tonight. With your ID and the evidence from
the rape kit… we've got more than enough to hold them until tomorrow.
By then… we'll have figured out a way to get you out of here, even if
it's only for a little while."
"I'll have the surgery… I know I need that, but promise me
you won't let him lock me away… promise you'll help me protect
myself… please, Cath. After they operate… I'll be so out of it… they
can do anything they want an' I won't be able to stop it…"
Catherine's heart broke when she realized that, although he
wasn't aware of it, Greg was talking about something deeper than
being forced into therapy; he was unconsciously expressing residual
fear about the rape. In response, she held him tighter and soothed
him with quiet words and easy touches until he fell asleep on her
shoulder. Gently, she laid him back in bed, covering him and tucking
the blankets around him. As she left the room, some of the fury she'd
seen in him began to stir in her as well.
"Nurse?"
"Yes, ma'mm. Can I help you?"
"Yeah, you can. Page Scott Denson for me. Now."
"I believe he's in with another patient…"
"I don't give a damn if he's flying the Space Shuttle. I want
his ass down here! Page. Him." she hissed, producing her badge to
reinforce the command. The younger woman blanched and reached for the
PA receiver.
------------------------------
----
"Miss Willows? Is there a problem?"
Catherine nodded her head toward a small lounge several yards
away from Greg's door and stalked toward it. She knew she could end
up shouting and she wasn't about to disturb her young friend's rest.
Denson followed and when they reached the more secluded area, the
smaller woman whirled on the doctor, fire blazing in her eyes.
"What the *hell* did you think you were doing making Greg
think he had no choice but to enter counseling?!"
"I'm not sure I completely understand. Therapy is SOP in
cases such as his…"
"SOP? Greg doesn't understand SOP! All he heard was 'I made
the decision and you have no say'! Did you even stop to consider the
loss of control he's already feeling? He's barely had time to process
what happened to him… and you walk in and tell him he has to spend a
week locked in a psych ward!"
"Locked? God, no. I never said anything about him being
locked in. There's a whole group of unsecured rooms set up
specifically for victims of severe physical and sexual assault. He'll
be under close observation, of course…."
"Great, so he'll be able to come and go. That's not the
point! You told him, you didn't ask him!"
"Miss Willows…"
"No. You listen for a minute. You didn't see him. When I
walked in there he was furious and terrified… begging me to help
protect him. You probably had good intentions. Maybe you were
distracted thinking about your next patient, maybe you were just in a
hurry. Whatever it was, you screwed up. *I* know you really wanna
help him… but *he* doesn't. Not yet anyway."
"I have some time now. I can go explain it to him more fully…"
"No. He's sleeping. Besides, he's really not pleased with you
at the moment."
Denson produced a grim, rueful smile.
"That bad?"
"He called you every name in the big book of English curse-
words. Then he added a few that sounded Scandinavian." Catherine
replied more calmly, most of her anger slowly draining as she
realized Denson acknowledged and regretted his mistake.
"I'll spend some extra time with him before his surgery."
Denson assured her, turning to go.
"Yeah, about that… you're sure it can't be postponed?"
"The schedule is really full. As it is, I had to fight to get
them to squeeze him in. Also, we don't want to leave the colostomy
much longer. There could be serious complications."
"Of course. This is just so important to him. The ones that
hurt him are being arrested tonight and interrogated tomorrow. He
really needs to be there… to confront them."
Denson looked thoughtful for a long moment.
"Is there any rule that says they have to be questioned in a
police station?"
"No…not that I'm aware of."
"Then I see no reason why it couldn't happen in his room.
There will have to be precautions taken, of course. Both men will
need to be handcuffed and the hospital will insist on adding our own
security to whatever the LVPD provides…"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. You sure you can make it happen?"
"I think I have a major error in judgment to make up for. Let
this be my way of doing that. You handle the logistics on your end,
I'll set things up here."
Catherine nodded as Denso walked off then pulled her phone
out and dialed Grissom's voice mail.
"Gris, it's Catherine. I'm at the hospital. Greg's had a
really bad morning. He needs company, so I'm gonna make use of the
extra bed in his room instead of going all the way home. Oh, and I
need to discuss the interrogation with you. Talk to you tonight,
okay? Bye."
------------------------
11:30 THAT NIGHT
"Would you stand still, man? You're makin' me crazy. I swear I've
never seen you this hyper. You're usually cool as a cucumber when it
comes time to slap the cuffs on." Warrick commented, his concern
evident in his expression.
"Yeah, well this is different, ain't it." Brass
replied. "This ain't about some DB or victim I don't know from Adam.
It's for somebody I see everyday… somebody I have to answer to if it
goes south."
"It can't. We've got the warrants, the ID, the evidence. No
way this sack of shit's gettin' away."
"I know. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Nothin'. Let's do this."
Warrick considered pushing the issue, but he knew he'd get
nothing more out of his stoic, fiercely self-protective friend, so he
dropped the subject and followed Brass and the accompanying officers
up to the door. A powerful knock brought an almost immediate response.
"Yes? What can I do for you?"
"Brett Sawyer?"
"Yes…"
"Then you can step outside and put your hands behind your
back. You're under arrest."
"What?! Under arrest… what for?!" the young man protested as
he was dragged out and handcuffed.
"Rape and assault and battery." Warrick intoned darkly. "Get
him out of my sight."
The officers towed the still screaming and struggling suspect
to a car and shoved him into the backseat while Warrick snapped on a
pair of latex gloves. Brass read his expression and questioned him.
"You are worried."
"No. Skeptical. He was easy to find. That usually means they
don't think they have anything to worry about, even if the law does
catch up to 'em. I may not find anything significant."
Brass held the taller man's gaze firmly for several seconds,
spoke briefly then turned to leave.
"Try really hard."
-----------------------------
THE STATION: A FEW MINUTES LATER
"I don't see any problem with it, Cath. You'll have to clear
it with the lawyers, the prosecutor and the PD, but I can't imagine
they'd throw up any roadblocks. As long as there's enough security to
protect Greg…"
"Denson said the hospital would add their guards to whoever
we send."
"Okay. As soon as you get all the necessary approvals, it's a
go as far as I'm concerned. In the mean time…" he said, handing her
the info for her new case. Just as she turned to go, Gil's phone rang
and Catherine hang back to hear the news, if there was any. "Uh-huh.
Good first, always. Great. Yeah, the DA already promised us a twenty-
four hour hold…. Damn. No trace at all? Okay. No, I understand. Half
is better than none right now. You did everything you could. …. you
won't stop 'till you find him. I know. No, when he finishes with the
house, tell Warrick to call me, whatever he finds or doesn't find.
Okay. Thanks. "
Catherine looked a question at him with a raised eyebrow. He
sighed quietly then gave her the bad news. "Cimino's in the wind.
Brass thinks they missed him at his apartment by a few minutes at
most."
"Sawyer?"
"On his way in."
"That's something anyway."
"It is. You'd better get going on that." He advised, nodding
at the folder in her hand. "Unlike you, crime scenes don't age well."
"Excuse me! Is that supposed to imply I'm getting old?"
Gil gazed up at her, mildly confused.
"It was supposed to be a compliment."
"Keep working on it."
------------------------------
"Greg? Calm down… slow… talk slower, I can't understand you.
Okay… Okay, I'll be there. No, I'm off shift, it's fine. Yeah, I was
on my way home… Forget it, you're way more important, you know that.
Fifteen minutes. Alright…. I'm on my way, kiddo. Hang in there, okay?
Good. Bye."
---------------------
When Catherine arrived at the hospital she was stunned to
find Greg not only on his feet but pacing up and back along the near
side of his bed. It was obvious every shuffling step was causing him
pain, but he pushed on. His expression radiated fury and frustration,
but that didn't keep Catherine away. She immediately ran to his side
and halted him, holding fast even when he tried to pull out of her
grip.
"Greg! My God how did you manage to… does the staff know
you're out of bed?"
"I don't care… I don't care, I don't care, I don't care…" he
mumbled angrily, refusing to look at her.
"Greg, sit down."
"No! I can't… have to figure out what to do… have to think…"
he insisted. His struggle continued until Catherine grabbed his chin
and pulled his head around, forcing him to see her.
"Greg! Stop! Just for a minute… sit down and tell me what the
hell happened…"
Finally, Greg tore his arm free, but he also acceded to his
friend's request and dropped to the edge of the bed. She sat beside
him, touching his hair and stroking his hands, hoping to calm
him. "Better. Now… talk to me, baby. What's going on?"
"It's him… you have to tell him… make him understand…"
"Make who understand what?"
"Denson! He won't let me go to the interrogation! I tried to
tell him I'd come back after, but… he says it's impossible. Bastard…"
"Did he give you a reason? Do you have a secondary infection,
or…"
"Oh, no. *That* I could understand. He said I'm healing
better than he thought I would."
"Then what's the problem?"
"He scheduled my second surgery for today… to reverse the
colostomy. He says I'll be in no shape to go anywhere after that…
that's not what pissed me off though. He says… once I've had a couple
days to recover… he's transferring me upstairs. Got it all set up…
thinks he can control me… thinks he can just say jump… son of a bitch
has a surprise comin', *that* I guarantee…"
"Greg, I don't understand. What's upstairs?"
He gazed at her, anger slowly fading only to be replaced by
apprehension and tears.
"The pysch ward… he wants to shove me in the freaking psych
ward for a whole week… he can't just do that, can he, Cath? I didn't
say he could do that…"
"No… no, I don't think he can… not if you don't want it." She
reassured him as she wrapped one arm around him and pulled him close.
"Intensive inpatient therapy he called it… says I need to…
talk to somebody. About what? I don't remember anything… the damn GHB
took it all away…"
"I know… shhh. It'll be okay. I'll track him down and
straighten this all out. We've got time… Brass won't even pick up
Sawyer and Cimino until tonight. With your ID and the evidence from
the rape kit… we've got more than enough to hold them until tomorrow.
By then… we'll have figured out a way to get you out of here, even if
it's only for a little while."
"I'll have the surgery… I know I need that, but promise me
you won't let him lock me away… promise you'll help me protect
myself… please, Cath. After they operate… I'll be so out of it… they
can do anything they want an' I won't be able to stop it…"
Catherine's heart broke when she realized that, although he
wasn't aware of it, Greg was talking about something deeper than
being forced into therapy; he was unconsciously expressing residual
fear about the rape. In response, she held him tighter and soothed
him with quiet words and easy touches until he fell asleep on her
shoulder. Gently, she laid him back in bed, covering him and tucking
the blankets around him. As she left the room, some of the fury she'd
seen in him began to stir in her as well.
"Nurse?"
"Yes, ma'mm. Can I help you?"
"Yeah, you can. Page Scott Denson for me. Now."
"I believe he's in with another patient…"
"I don't give a damn if he's flying the Space Shuttle. I want
his ass down here! Page. Him." she hissed, producing her badge to
reinforce the command. The younger woman blanched and reached for the
PA receiver.
------------------------------
----
"Miss Willows? Is there a problem?"
Catherine nodded her head toward a small lounge several yards
away from Greg's door and stalked toward it. She knew she could end
up shouting and she wasn't about to disturb her young friend's rest.
Denson followed and when they reached the more secluded area, the
smaller woman whirled on the doctor, fire blazing in her eyes.
"What the *hell* did you think you were doing making Greg
think he had no choice but to enter counseling?!"
"I'm not sure I completely understand. Therapy is SOP in
cases such as his…"
"SOP? Greg doesn't understand SOP! All he heard was 'I made
the decision and you have no say'! Did you even stop to consider the
loss of control he's already feeling? He's barely had time to process
what happened to him… and you walk in and tell him he has to spend a
week locked in a psych ward!"
"Locked? God, no. I never said anything about him being
locked in. There's a whole group of unsecured rooms set up
specifically for victims of severe physical and sexual assault. He'll
be under close observation, of course…."
"Great, so he'll be able to come and go. That's not the
point! You told him, you didn't ask him!"
"Miss Willows…"
"No. You listen for a minute. You didn't see him. When I
walked in there he was furious and terrified… begging me to help
protect him. You probably had good intentions. Maybe you were
distracted thinking about your next patient, maybe you were just in a
hurry. Whatever it was, you screwed up. *I* know you really wanna
help him… but *he* doesn't. Not yet anyway."
"I have some time now. I can go explain it to him more fully…"
"No. He's sleeping. Besides, he's really not pleased with you
at the moment."
Denson produced a grim, rueful smile.
"That bad?"
"He called you every name in the big book of English curse-
words. Then he added a few that sounded Scandinavian." Catherine
replied more calmly, most of her anger slowly draining as she
realized Denson acknowledged and regretted his mistake.
"I'll spend some extra time with him before his surgery."
Denson assured her, turning to go.
"Yeah, about that… you're sure it can't be postponed?"
"The schedule is really full. As it is, I had to fight to get
them to squeeze him in. Also, we don't want to leave the colostomy
much longer. There could be serious complications."
"Of course. This is just so important to him. The ones that
hurt him are being arrested tonight and interrogated tomorrow. He
really needs to be there… to confront them."
Denson looked thoughtful for a long moment.
"Is there any rule that says they have to be questioned in a
police station?"
"No…not that I'm aware of."
"Then I see no reason why it couldn't happen in his room.
There will have to be precautions taken, of course. Both men will
need to be handcuffed and the hospital will insist on adding our own
security to whatever the LVPD provides…"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. You sure you can make it happen?"
"I think I have a major error in judgment to make up for. Let
this be my way of doing that. You handle the logistics on your end,
I'll set things up here."
Catherine nodded as Denso walked off then pulled her phone
out and dialed Grissom's voice mail.
"Gris, it's Catherine. I'm at the hospital. Greg's had a
really bad morning. He needs company, so I'm gonna make use of the
extra bed in his room instead of going all the way home. Oh, and I
need to discuss the interrogation with you. Talk to you tonight,
okay? Bye."
------------------------
11:30 THAT NIGHT
"Would you stand still, man? You're makin' me crazy. I swear I've
never seen you this hyper. You're usually cool as a cucumber when it
comes time to slap the cuffs on." Warrick commented, his concern
evident in his expression.
"Yeah, well this is different, ain't it." Brass
replied. "This ain't about some DB or victim I don't know from Adam.
It's for somebody I see everyday… somebody I have to answer to if it
goes south."
"It can't. We've got the warrants, the ID, the evidence. No
way this sack of shit's gettin' away."
"I know. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Nothin'. Let's do this."
Warrick considered pushing the issue, but he knew he'd get
nothing more out of his stoic, fiercely self-protective friend, so he
dropped the subject and followed Brass and the accompanying officers
up to the door. A powerful knock brought an almost immediate response.
"Yes? What can I do for you?"
"Brett Sawyer?"
"Yes…"
"Then you can step outside and put your hands behind your
back. You're under arrest."
"What?! Under arrest… what for?!" the young man protested as
he was dragged out and handcuffed.
"Rape and assault and battery." Warrick intoned darkly. "Get
him out of my sight."
The officers towed the still screaming and struggling suspect
to a car and shoved him into the backseat while Warrick snapped on a
pair of latex gloves. Brass read his expression and questioned him.
"You are worried."
"No. Skeptical. He was easy to find. That usually means they
don't think they have anything to worry about, even if the law does
catch up to 'em. I may not find anything significant."
Brass held the taller man's gaze firmly for several seconds,
spoke briefly then turned to leave.
"Try really hard."
-----------------------------
THE STATION: A FEW MINUTES LATER
"I don't see any problem with it, Cath. You'll have to clear
it with the lawyers, the prosecutor and the PD, but I can't imagine
they'd throw up any roadblocks. As long as there's enough security to
protect Greg…"
"Denson said the hospital would add their guards to whoever
we send."
"Okay. As soon as you get all the necessary approvals, it's a
go as far as I'm concerned. In the mean time…" he said, handing her
the info for her new case. Just as she turned to go, Gil's phone rang
and Catherine hang back to hear the news, if there was any. "Uh-huh.
Good first, always. Great. Yeah, the DA already promised us a twenty-
four hour hold…. Damn. No trace at all? Okay. No, I understand. Half
is better than none right now. You did everything you could. …. you
won't stop 'till you find him. I know. No, when he finishes with the
house, tell Warrick to call me, whatever he finds or doesn't find.
Okay. Thanks. "
Catherine looked a question at him with a raised eyebrow. He
sighed quietly then gave her the bad news. "Cimino's in the wind.
Brass thinks they missed him at his apartment by a few minutes at
most."
"Sawyer?"
"On his way in."
"That's something anyway."
"It is. You'd better get going on that." He advised, nodding
at the folder in her hand. "Unlike you, crime scenes don't age well."
"Excuse me! Is that supposed to imply I'm getting old?"
Gil gazed up at her, mildly confused.
"It was supposed to be a compliment."
"Keep working on it."
------------------------------
3:30 A.M.: TRACK ONE AND TRACK TWO
Nick snapped a picture, pulled the camera away to plan his
next shot then rose out of a deep crouch and moved around the body to
the right a few inches. Internally, he was conducting a private knock-
down drag-out fight with himself that kept him from acknowledging
what Sara was saying to him in reality, so she finally resorted to
slapping him between the shoulder blades with the flat of one hand.
He lurched forward slightly, but a strong sense of balance kept him
from falling face first into their best evidence. He turned his head
and glared at her, furious and bewildered.
"Ow! What the hell, Sidle!"
"Could you *maybe* manage to spend a few seconds in this
universe? I asked you a question three times."
"And I *heard* you all three times. I just didn't feel like
givin' you an answer the exact minute you wanted one, okay?"
"I noticed. So?"
"I put it back when I was done. 'Course, I'm probably gonna
end up buyin' him a new one. I just about wore it out."
"You think it's really in bad condition?"
"Nah. That's just guilt talkin'. I didn't exactly ask to
borrow it."
"I think he'll understand. Get it to Archie as soon as you
can, okay?"
"Minute we get back. You heard anything on Greg today? I know
he had his second surgery this afternoon."
"Cath said he was still out cold when she had to leave. From
her description, he had a really rough time this morning, though.
This recovery's gonna be hell on him."
"It ain't gonna be ice cream and cake for the rest of us,
either." Nick commented quietly as he took his final photo. "You
about done?"
"Yeah, almost. I just have to do a final check before we take
off."
"I'll wait for you by the truck."
"Okay."
Nick moved off to store the camera in the SUV, slipping back
into his own mind and resuming his internal debate.
{What am I thinkin', damn it? It's not like I ever coulda
said anything *before* all this shit hit the fan. Too damn much of a
coward... Now, with him facin' maybe a couple months downtime an' no
guarantees about anything... Hell, he'd never take on a junkyard
wreck like me anyway, even in a perfect world, which don't exist.
Still, I never took the chance, did I? I automatically figured he'd
either laugh or punch me... but he's not like that. He's not cruel
*or* hyper-sensitive. Thinkin' that just sells him way short. God...
I'm such a fuckin' idiot.}
"Nick? You alright?"
"Yeah... just fightin' off a little self-pity."
"You? No way. I didn't think you got down that far. Ever."
"Surprise, surprise." He murmured, sliding into the
passenger's side of the vehicle and closing the door. She took the
hint that he wasn't about to discuss it and moved to the driver's
side. They drove back to the station in silence.
----------------------------
4:15: TRACK THREE
"You're kidding me."
"No, actually. I'm not."
"C'mon."
Grissom turned from his examination of blood spatter on a
bathroom wall to gaze at his colleague curiously.
"Catherine, what makes you think I'd lie about something so
commonplace?"
"I didn't say you were lying. I guess it's just... a little
hard to accept."
"Why?"
"How can you believe? With all the crud we see day in and day
out, how do you justify belief in a higher power?"
"I don't. That's what faith is."
"Maybe..."
"Put it this way, Catherine; what we see every day is what
*helps* me keep believing. It also helps me keep working. The day I
look at a human body or an insect and don't see the hand of God...
I'll know it's time to stop."
"I don't understand."
"No reason you should. Faith is a very personal, individual
thing. You'll walk your own path."
Catherine chuckled softly.
"Yes, Master Yoda. You said it's still in your stereo?"
"It should be. If not, you know where my CD's are stored."
"Yup. Hey... you think this is really a good idea? I mean...
who knows how he'll react..."
"I don't think it matters. He'll know we're all thinking
about him."
"Right. That's what counts."
"Absolutely. Have you processed the kitchen yet?"
"On it..."
--------------------------------
6:15: TRACK FOUR AND FIVE
"Warrick? You in there?"
"Hmmm? Oh... yeah, I'm here, Jim. Was there somethin' you
needed?"
"Nah. Cath called. Said you wanted to talk to me. Something
about a project?"
"Right. Hang on. Lemme finish this print lift, okay? I'll be
with you in a minute."
Brass nodded, smiled briefly and walked away a little, pacing
slowly around near the door that led from the living room into a
small den. The area had already been processed thoroughly, so he
wasn't watching too carefully where his feet landed, but his eyes
were constantly in motion. When he noticed an unusual glimmer in a
spider-web that hung from a door frame in front of him, he called out
to the CSI behind him.
"Hey, Warrick. Might have something here."
"Yeah? Let's see. Where?"
"Up in the corner there. See? The vic's hair is brown, right?
That... would be red, unless I miss my guess."
Warrick grinned.
"Nice catch. This could be something." He murmured as he
collected the strands of hair. "I'll bring it in to DNA when I head
back in a few."
"About that project..."
"Oh yeah. Walk with me an' I'll tell you about it."
A few minutes later, Brass had been filled in and was
scorching Warrick with a skeptical look.
"You sure you want one from me?"
"Everybody's got a different style. What you pick doesn't
matter. It's the feeling behind it."
"Yeah. Makes sense. It's just... it might not be what you're
expecting. When it gets out what I chose, my tough guy rep could be
permanently fragged..."
This cryptic comment made Warrick immensely curious.
"How much in the other direction are we talkin' here?"
"Never mind. You'll find out soon. God help me..."
"Okay, okay. I can wait. You've got it on CD?"
"Oh yeah. No problem."
"Get it to Archie soon as you can."
"Will do..."
--------------------------------
7:15: THE HOSPITAL
The overnight nurse at the station near Greg's door yawned
widely and stretched until her elbows popped faintly. It had been a
hectic night, rarely quiet for more than five minutes, and she was
eager to collect her purse and jacket and head home for a meal and
some serious sleep. Returning her eyes to the last of her night's
paperwork, she just missed a figure slipping in through the fire door
at the far end of the hall. It moved so quickly and silently that she
never realized that she was no longer alone until a large hand
wrapped around her nose and mouth from behind. The fingers clamped
down on her face and held on only until she grew limp and slid to the
floor, unconscious.
The figure checked her for a pulse and, on finding a strong
one, left her and moved across the hall, easing open the door to
Greg's room and slithering inside.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick snapped a picture, pulled the camera away to plan his
next shot then rose out of a deep crouch and moved around the body to
the right a few inches. Internally, he was conducting a private knock-
down drag-out fight with himself that kept him from acknowledging
what Sara was saying to him in reality, so she finally resorted to
slapping him between the shoulder blades with the flat of one hand.
He lurched forward slightly, but a strong sense of balance kept him
from falling face first into their best evidence. He turned his head
and glared at her, furious and bewildered.
"Ow! What the hell, Sidle!"
"Could you *maybe* manage to spend a few seconds in this
universe? I asked you a question three times."
"And I *heard* you all three times. I just didn't feel like
givin' you an answer the exact minute you wanted one, okay?"
"I noticed. So?"
"I put it back when I was done. 'Course, I'm probably gonna
end up buyin' him a new one. I just about wore it out."
"You think it's really in bad condition?"
"Nah. That's just guilt talkin'. I didn't exactly ask to
borrow it."
"I think he'll understand. Get it to Archie as soon as you
can, okay?"
"Minute we get back. You heard anything on Greg today? I know
he had his second surgery this afternoon."
"Cath said he was still out cold when she had to leave. From
her description, he had a really rough time this morning, though.
This recovery's gonna be hell on him."
"It ain't gonna be ice cream and cake for the rest of us,
either." Nick commented quietly as he took his final photo. "You
about done?"
"Yeah, almost. I just have to do a final check before we take
off."
"I'll wait for you by the truck."
"Okay."
Nick moved off to store the camera in the SUV, slipping back
into his own mind and resuming his internal debate.
{What am I thinkin', damn it? It's not like I ever coulda
said anything *before* all this shit hit the fan. Too damn much of a
coward... Now, with him facin' maybe a couple months downtime an' no
guarantees about anything... Hell, he'd never take on a junkyard
wreck like me anyway, even in a perfect world, which don't exist.
Still, I never took the chance, did I? I automatically figured he'd
either laugh or punch me... but he's not like that. He's not cruel
*or* hyper-sensitive. Thinkin' that just sells him way short. God...
I'm such a fuckin' idiot.}
"Nick? You alright?"
"Yeah... just fightin' off a little self-pity."
"You? No way. I didn't think you got down that far. Ever."
"Surprise, surprise." He murmured, sliding into the
passenger's side of the vehicle and closing the door. She took the
hint that he wasn't about to discuss it and moved to the driver's
side. They drove back to the station in silence.
----------------------------
4:15: TRACK THREE
"You're kidding me."
"No, actually. I'm not."
"C'mon."
Grissom turned from his examination of blood spatter on a
bathroom wall to gaze at his colleague curiously.
"Catherine, what makes you think I'd lie about something so
commonplace?"
"I didn't say you were lying. I guess it's just... a little
hard to accept."
"Why?"
"How can you believe? With all the crud we see day in and day
out, how do you justify belief in a higher power?"
"I don't. That's what faith is."
"Maybe..."
"Put it this way, Catherine; what we see every day is what
*helps* me keep believing. It also helps me keep working. The day I
look at a human body or an insect and don't see the hand of God...
I'll know it's time to stop."
"I don't understand."
"No reason you should. Faith is a very personal, individual
thing. You'll walk your own path."
Catherine chuckled softly.
"Yes, Master Yoda. You said it's still in your stereo?"
"It should be. If not, you know where my CD's are stored."
"Yup. Hey... you think this is really a good idea? I mean...
who knows how he'll react..."
"I don't think it matters. He'll know we're all thinking
about him."
"Right. That's what counts."
"Absolutely. Have you processed the kitchen yet?"
"On it..."
--------------------------------
6:15: TRACK FOUR AND FIVE
"Warrick? You in there?"
"Hmmm? Oh... yeah, I'm here, Jim. Was there somethin' you
needed?"
"Nah. Cath called. Said you wanted to talk to me. Something
about a project?"
"Right. Hang on. Lemme finish this print lift, okay? I'll be
with you in a minute."
Brass nodded, smiled briefly and walked away a little, pacing
slowly around near the door that led from the living room into a
small den. The area had already been processed thoroughly, so he
wasn't watching too carefully where his feet landed, but his eyes
were constantly in motion. When he noticed an unusual glimmer in a
spider-web that hung from a door frame in front of him, he called out
to the CSI behind him.
"Hey, Warrick. Might have something here."
"Yeah? Let's see. Where?"
"Up in the corner there. See? The vic's hair is brown, right?
That... would be red, unless I miss my guess."
Warrick grinned.
"Nice catch. This could be something." He murmured as he
collected the strands of hair. "I'll bring it in to DNA when I head
back in a few."
"About that project..."
"Oh yeah. Walk with me an' I'll tell you about it."
A few minutes later, Brass had been filled in and was
scorching Warrick with a skeptical look.
"You sure you want one from me?"
"Everybody's got a different style. What you pick doesn't
matter. It's the feeling behind it."
"Yeah. Makes sense. It's just... it might not be what you're
expecting. When it gets out what I chose, my tough guy rep could be
permanently fragged..."
This cryptic comment made Warrick immensely curious.
"How much in the other direction are we talkin' here?"
"Never mind. You'll find out soon. God help me..."
"Okay, okay. I can wait. You've got it on CD?"
"Oh yeah. No problem."
"Get it to Archie soon as you can."
"Will do..."
--------------------------------
7:15: THE HOSPITAL
The overnight nurse at the station near Greg's door yawned
widely and stretched until her elbows popped faintly. It had been a
hectic night, rarely quiet for more than five minutes, and she was
eager to collect her purse and jacket and head home for a meal and
some serious sleep. Returning her eyes to the last of her night's
paperwork, she just missed a figure slipping in through the fire door
at the far end of the hall. It moved so quickly and silently that she
never realized that she was no longer alone until a large hand
wrapped around her nose and mouth from behind. The fingers clamped
down on her face and held on only until she grew limp and slid to the
floor, unconscious.
The figure checked her for a pulse and, on finding a strong
one, left her and moved across the hall, easing open the door to
Greg's room and slithering inside.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
7:20 A.M.
Greg woke abruptly when a weight settled on his legs and a
pair of sharp knees ruthlessly crushed his hands into the mattress.
He struggled as fiercely as he was able, but surgery and emotional
turmoil had weakened him more than he realized or wanted to admit. As
desperately as he tried, he could not escape. Terrified and unable to
reach out and restore light to the shadowy space, he drew a breath
to speak, but a rough hand fell on his mouth, forestalling his
attempt.
"Shhh. None of that, sweetness. Don't want anybody showing up
before the party's over, now do we? You know... Brett tried to tell
me you had guts. Me.. I didn't agree. I told him the GHB would take
care of your memory and you'd never talk without proof. Even if you
did remember anything... I said I was sure you weren't stupid enough
to give us up. I assured him you'd put your own pretty little neck
above everything else. Guess I was wrong , huh?" Cimino growled,
stroking Greg's face with his free hand. "Now he's in a cell... and
I'm on the run. And when I was driving away... leaving my whole damn
*life* behind, I figured... why not make the running worthwhile and
bury the only witness at the same time?"
Cimino leaned forward and snarled his next words directly into Greg's
ear. "You know what I'm going to do, bitch? I'm going to wrap my
fingers around your throat... and as the life drains out of your
eyes... I'm going to shove inside you one last time. I'll make your
last seconds on earth hurt like you never imagined it could... I'll
tear that sweet ass of yours apart this time... make you bleed so bad
nobody can fix it..."
Tears streaking down his face, Greg cried out, but the muffled sound
barely registered in the room. Cimino merely grinned, licked the
moisture off Greg's face and gripped the young man's neck with one
huge hand.
--------------------------
7:25
Nick shuffled wearily through the hospital lobby and up to
the bank of elevators. Stabbing the button, he resolved to only stay
a moment, checking to make sure Greg was doing well before heading
home. When the car arrived, he stepped inside and leaned against the
rear wall, eyes closing reluctantly. He flexed the fingers on his
injured hand and grimaced as a dull ache flared. He knew he should
have had it re-examined after his altercation with Hodges, but the
truth was he really didn't want to know what further damage he'd done.
{I was an idiot, I'll deal with what comes of it. It'll
probably be a little stiff if any new breaks don't heal just right.
No more than I deserve. I don't know why I felt like I had to look in
on Greg this mornin'. Most likely he's still conked out...}
When the steel doors slid open on the fifth floor, Nick
suddenly stood up straight. His instincts were triggering caution
alarms in his head and he reached for his weapon, cursing quietly
when he remembered he'd left it at work, as always. He now understood
that it hadn't been a whim that had led him to Greg's bedside. Some
lingering sixth sense from his days as a cop had been trying to tell
him something was very wrong and it had guided him where he needed to
be.
He first moved to the nurse's station, noticing that it was
empty when there should have been someone in attendance. After doing
his own check on the unconscious woman, he then looked around for
anything he could use as a weapon. When nothing presented itself, he
glanced down at his cast and scowled. It took him a few seconds to
acknowledge and move past the pain he might be about to endure, but
he managed it. Just as he was walking towards Greg's room, the day
shift nurse finally arrived, looking harried and mumbling about being
late. On seeing Nick, she stopped, developed a confused frown and was
about to question him, but he cut her off.
"Call security and get a doctor up here now!"
"Sir, who are you..."
"Don't talk, just do what I told you!"
"Sir, I can't just..."
Nick threw his badge at her.
"Call security, damn it, and do it now!"
Stepping into the room, Nick flipped the light switch by the door.
Once he realized what was happening, he ran to the rescue, never
thinking for a moment about his own infirmity. He hooked his good
hand into Cimino's waistband, the fingertips of his casted hand under
the would-be murderer's collar and pulled with all his strength. All
his strength proved to be enough to propel Steve Cimino off of Greg
and halfway across the room. Following the path of the rapist's
flight, Nick, ignoring fresh agony surging through his hand and
wrist, stalked to where the man half-reclined on the floor and used
both hands to bounce Cimino's head off the tile. When the suspect
didn't move for several seconds, Nick turned and rushed back to see
to Greg.
"Greg? Greggo, c'mon... you're okay... God, what'd he do... Greg,
breathe..... you gotta breathe, man, please..." Nick almost sobbed,
leaning in and preparing to give his friend mouth to mouth. Just
then, Scott Denson exploded into the room followed by two uniformed
security guards and nurses dragging equipment. While the officers
took control of Greg's dazed attacker, Denson pushed Nick aside and
began barking orders. Stunned and fighting his swirling emotions,
Nick backed off a step or two, watching in silence as the doctor and
a few other members of medical staff worked to save Greg's life.
Within a few minutes, Greg was on a ventilator and Denson was
examining him for other injuries. Only when he was certain the young
man was otherwise fine did he turn to Nick, drawing the CSI out into
the corridor.
"So? Is he okay?"
"Other than the damage to his throat, yes. I imagine his attacker
intended to do a great deal more, but thanks to you he didn't have
time."
"The vent..."
"His throat was swelling closed. I had to make sure he could still
breathe."
"Oh... yeah, I knew that. I'm sorry for the stupid questions, doc.
I'm just... I can't believe I let this happen..."
"You stopped it. He's alive because of you..."
Denson let his sentence go unfinished when he realized that Nick
seemed unaware that he was cradling his broken hand against his
chest. "Mr. Stokes... did you use that hand to pull your friend's
attacker away?"
Nick gave Denson a mildly confused look. He glanced down then back
up, focusing on Greg's room and the activity still going on there..
"Huh? Maybe.... I did what I had to do. My hand is fine, you go take
care of Greg."
"Mr. Sanders is breathing well right now. There isn't much more I can
do. Let's go find somewhere to sit down so I can take a look at
this..." Denson insisted, reaching cautiously for Nick's cast
"I said I'm good. He's the one you should be worryin' about!" Nick
countered, turning away from the doctor's touch. This movement,
however, awakened a level of pain that finally overcame the anger and
fear he'd been swimming in since entering Greg's room. Nick's legs
buckled slightly, but he locked his knees and, with Denson's help,
made his way to the lounge where Catherine and the doctor had had
their tete-a'tete the previous day.
"What exactly did you do?"
"I... grabbed his collar with the... tips of the fingers... and
hauled him backwards. Had my other hand in his belt..."
"That might have been your saving grace. Is the pain in one spot or
everywhere?"
"God... everywhere... my whole arm's on fire..."
"You've probably torn either a muscle or some ligaments. I can't tell
until I get the cast off."
"Not now."
"Mr. Stokes..."
"Not now! An' no pain meds either. Not 'till I can make a couple
calls."
"Do you intend to use that hand to dial or hold the receiver?" Denson
asked wryly.
"Okay... not 'till you *help* me make a couple calls... oh, and get
my badge back from the desk nurse."
---------------------------
7:50
"You sure I didn't wake you, Gris?"
"I hadn't made it to bed yet. What's wrong, Nick?"
"I.. I stopped to look in on Greg before I went home... Cimino was on
top of him. He tried to strangle him, boss..."
Grissom pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to keep a tight
rein on his feelings until he knew for sure whether the news was
positive or negative. His voice tense, he finally asked the question.
"Tried. So Greg's not..."
"No, he... he's alright... now, anyway. I pulled the bastard off...
cracked his head on the floor for good measure... Ow!"
"Nick?"
"I'm okay. Had to use both hands to do the job. Put a hurtin' on my
bad one in the process. Cimino should be on his way to jail by now."
"Greg?"
"They got a tube down his throat before it swelled too bad. He's
breathin'... he'll be on a ventilator for a couple days... but he's
breathin'. That's what counts."
"Thank God you were there."
"Yeah...." Nick responded weakly. He badly wanted to say more, to ask
for support and guidance, but he couldn't make the words take form.
His newest injury might take him out of the field for a brief time,
but he was not about to be forced into office duty because Gris
thought he was weak or suddenly unable to handle stress. Thankfully,
Grissom's own intuition was also working overtime and he offered
without Nick having to say anything.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes. Can you hold on that long?"
"Don't bother, man. Soon as I get the new cast finished..."
"Nick. Can you make it until I get there?"
"I'm okay. You don't have to drive all the way out here, boss. You
probably haven't eaten..."
"Hospitals have cafeterias."
"With the world's worst food. Besides, you need sleep."
"So do you. Especially now."
"Damn it, Gris..."
"I'll make it twenty minutes, if you need me to."
"Don't you dare speed." Nick chuckled quietly, finally giving in. "I
can survive for another half hour."
"Good. See you then."
"Okay..."
---------------------------
8:15
As Steve Cimino was being hauled slowly down the corridor, dragging
his feet and still trying to shake the cobwebs from his head, he
barely noticed the columns of people that had appeared along each
wall. The out-going nightshift had passed the news of his capture to
the arriving day-shift and now both groups had gathered to see him,
forming two lines of grim, angry faces. Within a few seconds,
however, a gathering born of resentment and curiosity became a
gauntlet when someone stuck out their foot and tripped the suspect.
He stumbled, but was held up by his escorts and forced to continue
walking. A little farther on, another county employee got brave and
repeated the move. This continued the length of the hall, with every
third or fourth person taking their shot, until the rapist and his
guards turned left into another corridor.
Jim Brass strode calmly along behind Cimino and the officers grasping
his elbows. The veteran cop had noted the face and name of every
single man or woman who had participated in the minor bout of
revenge, but that was habit; simply a dog-eared, well ingrained
process that kicked in when he was confronted with an unsettled crowd
that could easily become a raging mob. He knew he might be questioned
about the incident, but he still wiped the information from his mind
without even a twitch of regret. Their suspect had a mild concussion
after all. It was expected that he might stumble a little...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Greg woke abruptly when a weight settled on his legs and a
pair of sharp knees ruthlessly crushed his hands into the mattress.
He struggled as fiercely as he was able, but surgery and emotional
turmoil had weakened him more than he realized or wanted to admit. As
desperately as he tried, he could not escape. Terrified and unable to
reach out and restore light to the shadowy space, he drew a breath
to speak, but a rough hand fell on his mouth, forestalling his
attempt.
"Shhh. None of that, sweetness. Don't want anybody showing up
before the party's over, now do we? You know... Brett tried to tell
me you had guts. Me.. I didn't agree. I told him the GHB would take
care of your memory and you'd never talk without proof. Even if you
did remember anything... I said I was sure you weren't stupid enough
to give us up. I assured him you'd put your own pretty little neck
above everything else. Guess I was wrong , huh?" Cimino growled,
stroking Greg's face with his free hand. "Now he's in a cell... and
I'm on the run. And when I was driving away... leaving my whole damn
*life* behind, I figured... why not make the running worthwhile and
bury the only witness at the same time?"
Cimino leaned forward and snarled his next words directly into Greg's
ear. "You know what I'm going to do, bitch? I'm going to wrap my
fingers around your throat... and as the life drains out of your
eyes... I'm going to shove inside you one last time. I'll make your
last seconds on earth hurt like you never imagined it could... I'll
tear that sweet ass of yours apart this time... make you bleed so bad
nobody can fix it..."
Tears streaking down his face, Greg cried out, but the muffled sound
barely registered in the room. Cimino merely grinned, licked the
moisture off Greg's face and gripped the young man's neck with one
huge hand.
--------------------------
7:25
Nick shuffled wearily through the hospital lobby and up to
the bank of elevators. Stabbing the button, he resolved to only stay
a moment, checking to make sure Greg was doing well before heading
home. When the car arrived, he stepped inside and leaned against the
rear wall, eyes closing reluctantly. He flexed the fingers on his
injured hand and grimaced as a dull ache flared. He knew he should
have had it re-examined after his altercation with Hodges, but the
truth was he really didn't want to know what further damage he'd done.
{I was an idiot, I'll deal with what comes of it. It'll
probably be a little stiff if any new breaks don't heal just right.
No more than I deserve. I don't know why I felt like I had to look in
on Greg this mornin'. Most likely he's still conked out...}
When the steel doors slid open on the fifth floor, Nick
suddenly stood up straight. His instincts were triggering caution
alarms in his head and he reached for his weapon, cursing quietly
when he remembered he'd left it at work, as always. He now understood
that it hadn't been a whim that had led him to Greg's bedside. Some
lingering sixth sense from his days as a cop had been trying to tell
him something was very wrong and it had guided him where he needed to
be.
He first moved to the nurse's station, noticing that it was
empty when there should have been someone in attendance. After doing
his own check on the unconscious woman, he then looked around for
anything he could use as a weapon. When nothing presented itself, he
glanced down at his cast and scowled. It took him a few seconds to
acknowledge and move past the pain he might be about to endure, but
he managed it. Just as he was walking towards Greg's room, the day
shift nurse finally arrived, looking harried and mumbling about being
late. On seeing Nick, she stopped, developed a confused frown and was
about to question him, but he cut her off.
"Call security and get a doctor up here now!"
"Sir, who are you..."
"Don't talk, just do what I told you!"
"Sir, I can't just..."
Nick threw his badge at her.
"Call security, damn it, and do it now!"
Stepping into the room, Nick flipped the light switch by the door.
Once he realized what was happening, he ran to the rescue, never
thinking for a moment about his own infirmity. He hooked his good
hand into Cimino's waistband, the fingertips of his casted hand under
the would-be murderer's collar and pulled with all his strength. All
his strength proved to be enough to propel Steve Cimino off of Greg
and halfway across the room. Following the path of the rapist's
flight, Nick, ignoring fresh agony surging through his hand and
wrist, stalked to where the man half-reclined on the floor and used
both hands to bounce Cimino's head off the tile. When the suspect
didn't move for several seconds, Nick turned and rushed back to see
to Greg.
"Greg? Greggo, c'mon... you're okay... God, what'd he do... Greg,
breathe..... you gotta breathe, man, please..." Nick almost sobbed,
leaning in and preparing to give his friend mouth to mouth. Just
then, Scott Denson exploded into the room followed by two uniformed
security guards and nurses dragging equipment. While the officers
took control of Greg's dazed attacker, Denson pushed Nick aside and
began barking orders. Stunned and fighting his swirling emotions,
Nick backed off a step or two, watching in silence as the doctor and
a few other members of medical staff worked to save Greg's life.
Within a few minutes, Greg was on a ventilator and Denson was
examining him for other injuries. Only when he was certain the young
man was otherwise fine did he turn to Nick, drawing the CSI out into
the corridor.
"So? Is he okay?"
"Other than the damage to his throat, yes. I imagine his attacker
intended to do a great deal more, but thanks to you he didn't have
time."
"The vent..."
"His throat was swelling closed. I had to make sure he could still
breathe."
"Oh... yeah, I knew that. I'm sorry for the stupid questions, doc.
I'm just... I can't believe I let this happen..."
"You stopped it. He's alive because of you..."
Denson let his sentence go unfinished when he realized that Nick
seemed unaware that he was cradling his broken hand against his
chest. "Mr. Stokes... did you use that hand to pull your friend's
attacker away?"
Nick gave Denson a mildly confused look. He glanced down then back
up, focusing on Greg's room and the activity still going on there..
"Huh? Maybe.... I did what I had to do. My hand is fine, you go take
care of Greg."
"Mr. Sanders is breathing well right now. There isn't much more I can
do. Let's go find somewhere to sit down so I can take a look at
this..." Denson insisted, reaching cautiously for Nick's cast
"I said I'm good. He's the one you should be worryin' about!" Nick
countered, turning away from the doctor's touch. This movement,
however, awakened a level of pain that finally overcame the anger and
fear he'd been swimming in since entering Greg's room. Nick's legs
buckled slightly, but he locked his knees and, with Denson's help,
made his way to the lounge where Catherine and the doctor had had
their tete-a'tete the previous day.
"What exactly did you do?"
"I... grabbed his collar with the... tips of the fingers... and
hauled him backwards. Had my other hand in his belt..."
"That might have been your saving grace. Is the pain in one spot or
everywhere?"
"God... everywhere... my whole arm's on fire..."
"You've probably torn either a muscle or some ligaments. I can't tell
until I get the cast off."
"Not now."
"Mr. Stokes..."
"Not now! An' no pain meds either. Not 'till I can make a couple
calls."
"Do you intend to use that hand to dial or hold the receiver?" Denson
asked wryly.
"Okay... not 'till you *help* me make a couple calls... oh, and get
my badge back from the desk nurse."
---------------------------
7:50
"You sure I didn't wake you, Gris?"
"I hadn't made it to bed yet. What's wrong, Nick?"
"I.. I stopped to look in on Greg before I went home... Cimino was on
top of him. He tried to strangle him, boss..."
Grissom pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to keep a tight
rein on his feelings until he knew for sure whether the news was
positive or negative. His voice tense, he finally asked the question.
"Tried. So Greg's not..."
"No, he... he's alright... now, anyway. I pulled the bastard off...
cracked his head on the floor for good measure... Ow!"
"Nick?"
"I'm okay. Had to use both hands to do the job. Put a hurtin' on my
bad one in the process. Cimino should be on his way to jail by now."
"Greg?"
"They got a tube down his throat before it swelled too bad. He's
breathin'... he'll be on a ventilator for a couple days... but he's
breathin'. That's what counts."
"Thank God you were there."
"Yeah...." Nick responded weakly. He badly wanted to say more, to ask
for support and guidance, but he couldn't make the words take form.
His newest injury might take him out of the field for a brief time,
but he was not about to be forced into office duty because Gris
thought he was weak or suddenly unable to handle stress. Thankfully,
Grissom's own intuition was also working overtime and he offered
without Nick having to say anything.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes. Can you hold on that long?"
"Don't bother, man. Soon as I get the new cast finished..."
"Nick. Can you make it until I get there?"
"I'm okay. You don't have to drive all the way out here, boss. You
probably haven't eaten..."
"Hospitals have cafeterias."
"With the world's worst food. Besides, you need sleep."
"So do you. Especially now."
"Damn it, Gris..."
"I'll make it twenty minutes, if you need me to."
"Don't you dare speed." Nick chuckled quietly, finally giving in. "I
can survive for another half hour."
"Good. See you then."
"Okay..."
---------------------------
8:15
As Steve Cimino was being hauled slowly down the corridor, dragging
his feet and still trying to shake the cobwebs from his head, he
barely noticed the columns of people that had appeared along each
wall. The out-going nightshift had passed the news of his capture to
the arriving day-shift and now both groups had gathered to see him,
forming two lines of grim, angry faces. Within a few seconds,
however, a gathering born of resentment and curiosity became a
gauntlet when someone stuck out their foot and tripped the suspect.
He stumbled, but was held up by his escorts and forced to continue
walking. A little farther on, another county employee got brave and
repeated the move. This continued the length of the hall, with every
third or fourth person taking their shot, until the rapist and his
guards turned left into another corridor.
Jim Brass strode calmly along behind Cimino and the officers grasping
his elbows. The veteran cop had noted the face and name of every
single man or woman who had participated in the minor bout of
revenge, but that was habit; simply a dog-eared, well ingrained
process that kicked in when he was confronted with an unsettled crowd
that could easily become a raging mob. He knew he might be questioned
about the incident, but he still wiped the information from his mind
without even a twitch of regret. Their suspect had a mild concussion
after all. It was expected that he might stumble a little...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
10:30 THAT NIGHT:
Grissom rubbed his eyes as he sat up and silenced the softly
beeping alarm on his watch. Despite all protests, once Nick's injury
had been reevaluated and the cast replaced, Gil had sent him home to
rest. Then, as Catherine had done earlier, Greg's supervisor spent
his day sleeping a few feet away from his young DNA tech.
His expression one of grave reflection, Grissom sighed quietly and
momentarily studied Greg, reassuring himself that nothing had changed
since he went to sleep. Only then did he slide his feet to the floor,
stand and move into the tiny bathroom. When he emerged, marginally
cleaner and more alert than when he'd entered, he found Sara sitting
beside the bed, gently stroking Greg's hair off his forehead and
whispering to him. Gil cleared his throat softly and Sara turned to
look at him.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be at work?"
"That's right, you've been here all day so you haven't heard. After
they found out what happened, the day shift CSI's that were off or
just on call had a big cell phone marathon this morning. The end
result was that they decided to cover the field work for tonight and
give our team some extra down time."
Grissom's eyebrow lifted.
"Ecklie'll never let it happen."
"He can't do anything about it. They went over the weasel's head and
talked to the director. Once he heard they don't expect to be paid
for the extra work he was happy to approve it."
"Hmmph. Interesting..."
A moment later the door opened with a small rush of cool air and
Catherine, Nick and Warrick entered. "Nick, you're supposed to be
home resting..." Gil began, but the other man cut him off with a
light grin, raising the arm that wasn't currently suspended in a
sling and producing the Boy Scout salute.
"I followed orders, I swear. I slept a good seven hours. Then Cath
called and said we had the night to ourselves... an' I just had to
come back. After... well, after it was over, Denson wouldn't let me
back in an' then you made me go home... I had to see for myself Greg
was really okay. Met these two in the lobby while I was waitin' for
the elevator. I reckon we all had the same idea about how to spend
our free time."
The eyebrow slid up again at Nick's uncommon use of the peculiarly
Southern word. The native Texan glared mildly. "I'll tell you what I
told Sara. It happens when I get stressed. Once everything's back to
normal, the slang'll quit creepin' in the back door, okay?"
"I wasn't criticizing, Nick. The way you speak is a part of who you
are and where you come from. To deny your idioms and speech patterns
is to deny yourself. I'd never ask you to do that. Sara, would you
come help me grab some extra chairs? I have a feeling we'll all be
here for a while."
"Yeah, sure."
As the pair left, Nick's scowl transformed into a confused smile and
a shake of the head.
"What?" Warrick asked.
"Just when I think I'm beginnin' to get a handle on the guy, he
throws me a curve I can't even see, never mind make contact with.
Just once I'd like to be able to slap a base hit back in his
direction..."
"Wouldn't we all," Catherine responded matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't we
all."
A few minutes later, Gil and Sara returned with four more chairs and
the group settled around the bed in a loose semi-circle. For a little
while, the room was utterly silent except for the background noise of
the machine breathing for Greg and the more natural breathing of his
five friends. When Sara suddenly spoke up, it startled the others,
but noone interrupted to berate her, mostly because her words had
temporarily knocked the wind out of the other four. The young woman
had lifted Greg's slack hand and was holding it against her cheek,
while she talked as if they were the only ones in the room.
"I should have told you. You or somebody... I just never had any
reason to. Who needs the pity, right? Besides, it's been way too damn
long. Nothin' anybody can do now. It's my issue, I'll deal with it...
same way I always have. Just... now that I think about the other
night... maybe if I'd said something... at least you would've known
you weren't alone. I could've given you that at least..."
When her voice began to crack, she broke off and simply clutched the
cool fingers against her own warmer skin. Warrick rose and moved to
crouch at her side, touching her arm.
"Sara... what are you saying? What happened the other night?"
"Huh? Oh... a couple days back I came to check on Greg before I went
on shift. That doctor, Denson... he was trying to examine him... see
how the damage from the rape was healing. The kid... he was totally
freaked. He wouldn't let anybody touch him, so I calmed him down...
showed him how to get through it. I told him, you just have to send
your brain on vacation 'till it's over..."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I figured he'd be embarrassed." She explained, looking around
quickly and ending up locked into Nick's eyes. The recognition and
compassion she saw there had her standing and backing away so
abruptly that her chair toppled over. She was out of the room almost
before she heard him speak.
"Sara... God, no..."
Nick rose and started to follow, but Warrick halted him.
"I'll go."
"Okay..."
"If I can get her to come back, I will."
"Don't push her. If she really fights you... let her go."
"Got it."
Nick slowly reclaimed his chair, images from a long-gone case
flitting through his head. At last, moments and expressions that had
confused him at the time began to make sense. He tilted his head
back, laid a hand over his face and moaned quietly.
"God... I'm so stupid. I should've seen it... I knew somethin' was
goin' on with her then... I just didn't know what..."
Grissom pulled Nick's hand down. Reluctantly, Nick opened his eyes
and faced his boss.
"Seen what, Nick?"
"Remember the double home invasion case? The retired teacher, then
the girl that got gang raped. Her parents were so scared they
wouldn't let us help at first..."
"The Kirkwoods? I remember."
"There was somethin' really off about Sara through that whole case.
She just wasn't... herself. When we found the girl dead... I swear,
Sara Sidle is one of the strongest, most solid people I've ever known
in my life, but sittin' in the back of that car she just looked ...
helpless. The days after that were so crazy... I kept meanin' to sit
her down and ask her what was up, but there was just never a good
time. Then I guess I kinda decided leavin' it alone was better for
everybody."
"Nick... you're not thinking... it can't be. Not Sara..." Catherine
managed, her face gone utterly white.
"Takes a survivor to know a survivor. She didn't read about
that "mind vacation" trick in any book or pysch journal. She's had to
use it."
-------------------------
"Sara..."
"Don't. Don't touch me, don't talk to me and *don't* try to calm me
down... Just back off, damn it."
"Understood."
"Then do it. Turn around and walk away."
"Sorry, no."
"No? What the hell, Warrick? You don't understand English anymore?"
"I won't come any closer... but I also can't leave you by yourself.
Not 'till I know you'll be alright."
"Son of a... if I promise not to slit my wrists the minute you turn
your back will you go the hell away? Please?"
"Hey, ease up, girl. I never said I thought that. I'm your friend.
Bein' scared for each other is what friends do."
"I don't." she replied, almost too softly for him to hear.
"Don't what?"
Instead of giving him a direct answer, she asked a question,
desperately trying to get her point across.
"You ever see that movie... about the robot that gets hit by
lightning?"
"And it makes him alive... "Short Circuit"
"Yeah. Remember that line about robots and feelings?"
"Kind of. Something like 'they don't get sad, they don't get happy,
they just run programs'."
"I've got a really good program running right now, Warrick. It works
for me. You try and screw that up... I'll never forgive you."
"Sara, c'mon... it can't be workin' that well if you're this upset."
"God... why do you have to be so freaking stubborn?! Why can't you
just believe me and drop it?! Let something go for once in your life,
Warrick! I am not upset!"
"Sure. You're screamin' in the middle of the hall so everybody in a
two block radius knows how pissed you're *not*."
Sara tried to respond, but all she could do was gape in stunned
disbelief that he snuck match point in on her when she wasn't
looking. "No more, I swear." He stated quietly, holding up his
hands. "You can go if you want to. Just try an' remember that I care
about you, Sara... we all do. You ever feel like updatin' that
program all you gotta do is come find one of us. Day, night...
whatever."
Warrick turned and stepped back into Greg's room. When a nurse,
alerted by the noise, came to see if Sara was hurt the young woman
slapped away the kind hands and took off running.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Most of the group looked up hopefully when Warrick returned,
but their faces fell when they realized Sara wasn't with him.
"I tried." he explained. "She's pretty messed up right now.
Talkin' about how she's a robot an' robots don't have feelings..."
Grissom winced faintly, but everyone else was focused on the
other man and took no notice. Dropping back into his chair, Warrick
studied his hands for a long moment then looked up at Nick.
"So. You wanna tell me what that was all about, man? Sara
took one look at you an' lit outta here like her head was on fire an'
her ass was catchin'."
Nick sighed and looked to Catherine.
"It's your story, Nicky, not mine or Gil's. If you're ready
to expand the inner circle... tell it."
After a deep steadying breath or two, Nick related the tale
of his childhood abuse to Warrick.
"An' you think Sara... No. No way. Forget it."
"She rejects her emotions, she knows that trick about
blanking your mind when somebody... Trust me, she's been molested.
Not just once like I was, either. I'd stake my last nickel on it."
"Shit... you two are stronger than I ever knew. How did I
miss it? You, Sara... how did I *not* see that?"
"That's the thing about bein' a long-term survivor, Rick.
Either you get the right help an' make peace with it so there's
nothin' for anyone to see, or you dig a grave an' bury it so deep it
never shows on the surface unless somethin' makes you remember."
Gil's phone rang shrilly into the prolonged silence that
followed Nick's quiet, but powerful statement. Glad for a reason to
escape the emotionally charged atmosphere, Grissom moved into the
corridor to take the call, briefly touching Nick's shoulder in
support on the way out.
"Grissom."
"It's Jim. Sawyer is getting antsy and so is his so-called
legal representation."
"Is there any way we can buy more time? Any way at all?"
"I don't know. Cimino was caught red-handed in the middle of
attempted murder an' the guy who caught him is conscious to testify,
so... no problem. Sawyer, on the other hand, is a lot more shaky."
"We have the tape..."
"Yeah, but as I understand it the ID was made long after it
ran out. If Cimino doesn't roll or Sanders doesn't come to in time..."
"I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Speakin' of the kid... how is he? The doctors got anything
new?"
"Not really. The swelling seems to be going down slowly. My
guess, he'll be awake and off the ventilator by day after tomorrow."
"Too late to get Sawyer. Way too late..."
"Not if I haven't lost my touch."
"There's always hope. See you in twenty?"
"Somewhere in there. Bye, Jim."
"Bye."
Gil stepped back in, tucked his phone away and addressed the
remaining group. "That was Brass. They may lose Sawyer."
Nick suddenly sat forward, releasing some of his frustration
in a mild explosion of anger and disbelief.
"What? No, damn it! Greg ID'd the son of a bitch!"
"After the tape had stopped. By the time Greg can confirm his
identification, Sawyer's attorney will have gotten him released."
Warrick slammed a fist into his thigh and ground out what
everyone was thinking.
"He steps one foot on the street we'll never see him again."
"That's why I'm going in to talk to him. Of the two, he's
more likely to break."
"I know a few things I could break for him..." Warrick
muttered forebodingly. Grissom whipped his head around to glare
harshly at his friend then turned it on the other two as well.
"Attitude, Warrick. All of us have to be more careful. We
have no idea what Greg might be able to sense or pick up on."
The object of the reprimand looked up at his boss, a
repentant expression on his face
"An' the last thing he needs to feel around him is anger and
violence. I get it. I'm sorry."
"Tell him. I have to get going. I'll be back as soon as I
can."
"You'll call the minute there's news?" Catherine asked, her
eyes pleading with him to do all he could to draw a usable confession
from Brett Sawyer.
"Absolutely."
As Grissom left, Warrick nudged his chair a little closer to
the bed. Gently, he pulled up the blankets and slipped Greg's chilled
hands under them, talking softly.
"I really am sorry, Greggo. If I scared you I didn't mean it.
Hey, did you hear the good news? The guys who hurt you are both
behind bars and we're all gonna make sure they stay there 'till they
need dentures an' walkers."
"It's true, I swear." Catherine continued. "It's all okay,
now. You put your focus on getting better. That's all you need to
think about. We're all right here with you... we're not going
anywhere."
----------------------
-----
THE STATION
"That's him?"
Brass chuckled darkly.
"Yeah. Doesn't look like much, does he? Here we were all
prepared for something out of "Alien"... and we end up with a
cockroach."
"He wasn't the only one involved."
Brass sobered.
"Yeah. Too damn true. Cimino... he's the monster we were
waitin' on. Somebody whacked that guy with an evil stick in-utero."
"Has he been a lot of trouble?" Grissom asked, turning from
the interrogation room window to gaze at the man beside him.
"Nah. He sits in the cell and stares at everybody that walks
by or comes up to the bars. Won't talk, won't eat. He just... follows
you with his eyes. He's freaked out half the cops on the first two
shifts already. One or two are convinced he's gonna spit pea soup and
make his head do a three-sixty."
Gil sighed and turned back to the glass.
"Why do we insist on looking for supernatural sources for
evil? Evil was probably man's real first invention."
"You don't believe in Satan?"
"I believe Lucifer may have existed, but blaming a pissed off
angel for everything we do wrong makes as much sense as the Twinkie
defense, Jim. It's another convenient excuse to avoid taking
responsibility for our human weaknesses." Gil replied as he opened
the door and stepped into the room. Jim paused, grinned and followed,
closing the door behind him.
"Brett Sawyer? I'm Gil Grissom. I'm..."
"I know who you are. Sanders told me enough times. Little
bitch couldn't shut up about you."
Jim quickly glanced at Grissom, wondering if the fact that
the victim was someone he was close to would allow the typical filthy
slurs to sink any deeper than they usually did. He was gratified to
see no trace of concern or distaste on his colleague's face.
"And I know you. Saves time. Let's get down to business,
shall we?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
TBC......OOU 16/?
------------
Most of the group looked up hopefully when Warrick returned,
but their faces fell when they realized Sara wasn't with him.
"I tried." he explained. "She's pretty messed up right now.
Talkin' about how she's a robot an' robots don't have feelings..."
Grissom winced faintly, but everyone else was focused on the
other man and took no notice. Dropping back into his chair, Warrick
studied his hands for a long moment then looked up at Nick.
"So. You wanna tell me what that was all about, man? Sara
took one look at you an' lit outta here like her head was on fire an'
her ass was catchin'."
Nick sighed and looked to Catherine.
"It's your story, Nicky, not mine or Gil's. If you're ready
to expand the inner circle... tell it."
After a deep steadying breath or two, Nick related the tale
of his childhood abuse to Warrick.
"An' you think Sara... No. No way. Forget it."
"She rejects her emotions, she knows that trick about
blanking your mind when somebody... Trust me, she's been molested.
Not just once like I was, either. I'd stake my last nickel on it."
"Shit... you two are stronger than I ever knew. How did I
miss it? You, Sara... how did I *not* see that?"
"That's the thing about bein' a long-term survivor, Rick.
Either you get the right help an' make peace with it so there's
nothin' for anyone to see, or you dig a grave an' bury it so deep it
never shows on the surface unless somethin' makes you remember."
Gil's phone rang shrilly into the prolonged silence that
followed Nick's quiet, but powerful statement. Glad for a reason to
escape the emotionally charged atmosphere, Grissom moved into the
corridor to take the call, briefly touching Nick's shoulder in
support on the way out.
"Grissom."
"It's Jim. Sawyer is getting antsy and so is his so-called
legal representation."
"Is there any way we can buy more time? Any way at all?"
"I don't know. Cimino was caught red-handed in the middle of
attempted murder an' the guy who caught him is conscious to testify,
so... no problem. Sawyer, on the other hand, is a lot more shaky."
"We have the tape..."
"Yeah, but as I understand it the ID was made long after it
ran out. If Cimino doesn't roll or Sanders doesn't come to in time..."
"I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Speakin' of the kid... how is he? The doctors got anything
new?"
"Not really. The swelling seems to be going down slowly. My
guess, he'll be awake and off the ventilator by day after tomorrow."
"Too late to get Sawyer. Way too late..."
"Not if I haven't lost my touch."
"There's always hope. See you in twenty?"
"Somewhere in there. Bye, Jim."
"Bye."
Gil stepped back in, tucked his phone away and addressed the
remaining group. "That was Brass. They may lose Sawyer."
Nick suddenly sat forward, releasing some of his frustration
in a mild explosion of anger and disbelief.
"What? No, damn it! Greg ID'd the son of a bitch!"
"After the tape had stopped. By the time Greg can confirm his
identification, Sawyer's attorney will have gotten him released."
Warrick slammed a fist into his thigh and ground out what
everyone was thinking.
"He steps one foot on the street we'll never see him again."
"That's why I'm going in to talk to him. Of the two, he's
more likely to break."
"I know a few things I could break for him..." Warrick
muttered forebodingly. Grissom whipped his head around to glare
harshly at his friend then turned it on the other two as well.
"Attitude, Warrick. All of us have to be more careful. We
have no idea what Greg might be able to sense or pick up on."
The object of the reprimand looked up at his boss, a
repentant expression on his face
"An' the last thing he needs to feel around him is anger and
violence. I get it. I'm sorry."
"Tell him. I have to get going. I'll be back as soon as I
can."
"You'll call the minute there's news?" Catherine asked, her
eyes pleading with him to do all he could to draw a usable confession
from Brett Sawyer.
"Absolutely."
As Grissom left, Warrick nudged his chair a little closer to
the bed. Gently, he pulled up the blankets and slipped Greg's chilled
hands under them, talking softly.
"I really am sorry, Greggo. If I scared you I didn't mean it.
Hey, did you hear the good news? The guys who hurt you are both
behind bars and we're all gonna make sure they stay there 'till they
need dentures an' walkers."
"It's true, I swear." Catherine continued. "It's all okay,
now. You put your focus on getting better. That's all you need to
think about. We're all right here with you... we're not going
anywhere."
----------------------
-----
THE STATION
"That's him?"
Brass chuckled darkly.
"Yeah. Doesn't look like much, does he? Here we were all
prepared for something out of "Alien"... and we end up with a
cockroach."
"He wasn't the only one involved."
Brass sobered.
"Yeah. Too damn true. Cimino... he's the monster we were
waitin' on. Somebody whacked that guy with an evil stick in-utero."
"Has he been a lot of trouble?" Grissom asked, turning from
the interrogation room window to gaze at the man beside him.
"Nah. He sits in the cell and stares at everybody that walks
by or comes up to the bars. Won't talk, won't eat. He just... follows
you with his eyes. He's freaked out half the cops on the first two
shifts already. One or two are convinced he's gonna spit pea soup and
make his head do a three-sixty."
Gil sighed and turned back to the glass.
"Why do we insist on looking for supernatural sources for
evil? Evil was probably man's real first invention."
"You don't believe in Satan?"
"I believe Lucifer may have existed, but blaming a pissed off
angel for everything we do wrong makes as much sense as the Twinkie
defense, Jim. It's another convenient excuse to avoid taking
responsibility for our human weaknesses." Gil replied as he opened
the door and stepped into the room. Jim paused, grinned and followed,
closing the door behind him.
"Brett Sawyer? I'm Gil Grissom. I'm..."
"I know who you are. Sanders told me enough times. Little
bitch couldn't shut up about you."
Jim quickly glanced at Grissom, wondering if the fact that
the victim was someone he was close to would allow the typical filthy
slurs to sink any deeper than they usually did. He was gratified to
see no trace of concern or distaste on his colleague's face.
"And I know you. Saves time. Let's get down to business,
shall we?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Grissom rubbed his eyes as he sat up and silenced the softly
beeping alarm on his watch. Despite all protests, once Nick's injury
had been reevaluated and the cast replaced, Gil had sent him home to
rest. Then, as Catherine had done earlier, Greg's supervisor spent
his day sleeping a few feet away from his young DNA tech.
His expression one of grave reflection, Grissom sighed quietly and
momentarily studied Greg, reassuring himself that nothing had changed
since he went to sleep. Only then did he slide his feet to the floor,
stand and move into the tiny bathroom. When he emerged, marginally
cleaner and more alert than when he'd entered, he found Sara sitting
beside the bed, gently stroking Greg's hair off his forehead and
whispering to him. Gil cleared his throat softly and Sara turned to
look at him.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be at work?"
"That's right, you've been here all day so you haven't heard. After
they found out what happened, the day shift CSI's that were off or
just on call had a big cell phone marathon this morning. The end
result was that they decided to cover the field work for tonight and
give our team some extra down time."
Grissom's eyebrow lifted.
"Ecklie'll never let it happen."
"He can't do anything about it. They went over the weasel's head and
talked to the director. Once he heard they don't expect to be paid
for the extra work he was happy to approve it."
"Hmmph. Interesting..."
A moment later the door opened with a small rush of cool air and
Catherine, Nick and Warrick entered. "Nick, you're supposed to be
home resting..." Gil began, but the other man cut him off with a
light grin, raising the arm that wasn't currently suspended in a
sling and producing the Boy Scout salute.
"I followed orders, I swear. I slept a good seven hours. Then Cath
called and said we had the night to ourselves... an' I just had to
come back. After... well, after it was over, Denson wouldn't let me
back in an' then you made me go home... I had to see for myself Greg
was really okay. Met these two in the lobby while I was waitin' for
the elevator. I reckon we all had the same idea about how to spend
our free time."
The eyebrow slid up again at Nick's uncommon use of the peculiarly
Southern word. The native Texan glared mildly. "I'll tell you what I
told Sara. It happens when I get stressed. Once everything's back to
normal, the slang'll quit creepin' in the back door, okay?"
"I wasn't criticizing, Nick. The way you speak is a part of who you
are and where you come from. To deny your idioms and speech patterns
is to deny yourself. I'd never ask you to do that. Sara, would you
come help me grab some extra chairs? I have a feeling we'll all be
here for a while."
"Yeah, sure."
As the pair left, Nick's scowl transformed into a confused smile and
a shake of the head.
"What?" Warrick asked.
"Just when I think I'm beginnin' to get a handle on the guy, he
throws me a curve I can't even see, never mind make contact with.
Just once I'd like to be able to slap a base hit back in his
direction..."
"Wouldn't we all," Catherine responded matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't we
all."
A few minutes later, Gil and Sara returned with four more chairs and
the group settled around the bed in a loose semi-circle. For a little
while, the room was utterly silent except for the background noise of
the machine breathing for Greg and the more natural breathing of his
five friends. When Sara suddenly spoke up, it startled the others,
but noone interrupted to berate her, mostly because her words had
temporarily knocked the wind out of the other four. The young woman
had lifted Greg's slack hand and was holding it against her cheek,
while she talked as if they were the only ones in the room.
"I should have told you. You or somebody... I just never had any
reason to. Who needs the pity, right? Besides, it's been way too damn
long. Nothin' anybody can do now. It's my issue, I'll deal with it...
same way I always have. Just... now that I think about the other
night... maybe if I'd said something... at least you would've known
you weren't alone. I could've given you that at least..."
When her voice began to crack, she broke off and simply clutched the
cool fingers against her own warmer skin. Warrick rose and moved to
crouch at her side, touching her arm.
"Sara... what are you saying? What happened the other night?"
"Huh? Oh... a couple days back I came to check on Greg before I went
on shift. That doctor, Denson... he was trying to examine him... see
how the damage from the rape was healing. The kid... he was totally
freaked. He wouldn't let anybody touch him, so I calmed him down...
showed him how to get through it. I told him, you just have to send
your brain on vacation 'till it's over..."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I figured he'd be embarrassed." She explained, looking around
quickly and ending up locked into Nick's eyes. The recognition and
compassion she saw there had her standing and backing away so
abruptly that her chair toppled over. She was out of the room almost
before she heard him speak.
"Sara... God, no..."
Nick rose and started to follow, but Warrick halted him.
"I'll go."
"Okay..."
"If I can get her to come back, I will."
"Don't push her. If she really fights you... let her go."
"Got it."
Nick slowly reclaimed his chair, images from a long-gone case
flitting through his head. At last, moments and expressions that had
confused him at the time began to make sense. He tilted his head
back, laid a hand over his face and moaned quietly.
"God... I'm so stupid. I should've seen it... I knew somethin' was
goin' on with her then... I just didn't know what..."
Grissom pulled Nick's hand down. Reluctantly, Nick opened his eyes
and faced his boss.
"Seen what, Nick?"
"Remember the double home invasion case? The retired teacher, then
the girl that got gang raped. Her parents were so scared they
wouldn't let us help at first..."
"The Kirkwoods? I remember."
"There was somethin' really off about Sara through that whole case.
She just wasn't... herself. When we found the girl dead... I swear,
Sara Sidle is one of the strongest, most solid people I've ever known
in my life, but sittin' in the back of that car she just looked ...
helpless. The days after that were so crazy... I kept meanin' to sit
her down and ask her what was up, but there was just never a good
time. Then I guess I kinda decided leavin' it alone was better for
everybody."
"Nick... you're not thinking... it can't be. Not Sara..." Catherine
managed, her face gone utterly white.
"Takes a survivor to know a survivor. She didn't read about
that "mind vacation" trick in any book or pysch journal. She's had to
use it."
-------------------------
"Sara..."
"Don't. Don't touch me, don't talk to me and *don't* try to calm me
down... Just back off, damn it."
"Understood."
"Then do it. Turn around and walk away."
"Sorry, no."
"No? What the hell, Warrick? You don't understand English anymore?"
"I won't come any closer... but I also can't leave you by yourself.
Not 'till I know you'll be alright."
"Son of a... if I promise not to slit my wrists the minute you turn
your back will you go the hell away? Please?"
"Hey, ease up, girl. I never said I thought that. I'm your friend.
Bein' scared for each other is what friends do."
"I don't." she replied, almost too softly for him to hear.
"Don't what?"
Instead of giving him a direct answer, she asked a question,
desperately trying to get her point across.
"You ever see that movie... about the robot that gets hit by
lightning?"
"And it makes him alive... "Short Circuit"
"Yeah. Remember that line about robots and feelings?"
"Kind of. Something like 'they don't get sad, they don't get happy,
they just run programs'."
"I've got a really good program running right now, Warrick. It works
for me. You try and screw that up... I'll never forgive you."
"Sara, c'mon... it can't be workin' that well if you're this upset."
"God... why do you have to be so freaking stubborn?! Why can't you
just believe me and drop it?! Let something go for once in your life,
Warrick! I am not upset!"
"Sure. You're screamin' in the middle of the hall so everybody in a
two block radius knows how pissed you're *not*."
Sara tried to respond, but all she could do was gape in stunned
disbelief that he snuck match point in on her when she wasn't
looking. "No more, I swear." He stated quietly, holding up his
hands. "You can go if you want to. Just try an' remember that I care
about you, Sara... we all do. You ever feel like updatin' that
program all you gotta do is come find one of us. Day, night...
whatever."
Warrick turned and stepped back into Greg's room. When a nurse,
alerted by the noise, came to see if Sara was hurt the young woman
slapped away the kind hands and took off running.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Most of the group looked up hopefully when Warrick returned,
but their faces fell when they realized Sara wasn't with him.
"I tried." he explained. "She's pretty messed up right now.
Talkin' about how she's a robot an' robots don't have feelings..."
Grissom winced faintly, but everyone else was focused on the
other man and took no notice. Dropping back into his chair, Warrick
studied his hands for a long moment then looked up at Nick.
"So. You wanna tell me what that was all about, man? Sara
took one look at you an' lit outta here like her head was on fire an'
her ass was catchin'."
Nick sighed and looked to Catherine.
"It's your story, Nicky, not mine or Gil's. If you're ready
to expand the inner circle... tell it."
After a deep steadying breath or two, Nick related the tale
of his childhood abuse to Warrick.
"An' you think Sara... No. No way. Forget it."
"She rejects her emotions, she knows that trick about
blanking your mind when somebody... Trust me, she's been molested.
Not just once like I was, either. I'd stake my last nickel on it."
"Shit... you two are stronger than I ever knew. How did I
miss it? You, Sara... how did I *not* see that?"
"That's the thing about bein' a long-term survivor, Rick.
Either you get the right help an' make peace with it so there's
nothin' for anyone to see, or you dig a grave an' bury it so deep it
never shows on the surface unless somethin' makes you remember."
Gil's phone rang shrilly into the prolonged silence that
followed Nick's quiet, but powerful statement. Glad for a reason to
escape the emotionally charged atmosphere, Grissom moved into the
corridor to take the call, briefly touching Nick's shoulder in
support on the way out.
"Grissom."
"It's Jim. Sawyer is getting antsy and so is his so-called
legal representation."
"Is there any way we can buy more time? Any way at all?"
"I don't know. Cimino was caught red-handed in the middle of
attempted murder an' the guy who caught him is conscious to testify,
so... no problem. Sawyer, on the other hand, is a lot more shaky."
"We have the tape..."
"Yeah, but as I understand it the ID was made long after it
ran out. If Cimino doesn't roll or Sanders doesn't come to in time..."
"I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Speakin' of the kid... how is he? The doctors got anything
new?"
"Not really. The swelling seems to be going down slowly. My
guess, he'll be awake and off the ventilator by day after tomorrow."
"Too late to get Sawyer. Way too late..."
"Not if I haven't lost my touch."
"There's always hope. See you in twenty?"
"Somewhere in there. Bye, Jim."
"Bye."
Gil stepped back in, tucked his phone away and addressed the
remaining group. "That was Brass. They may lose Sawyer."
Nick suddenly sat forward, releasing some of his frustration
in a mild explosion of anger and disbelief.
"What? No, damn it! Greg ID'd the son of a bitch!"
"After the tape had stopped. By the time Greg can confirm his
identification, Sawyer's attorney will have gotten him released."
Warrick slammed a fist into his thigh and ground out what
everyone was thinking.
"He steps one foot on the street we'll never see him again."
"That's why I'm going in to talk to him. Of the two, he's
more likely to break."
"I know a few things I could break for him..." Warrick
muttered forebodingly. Grissom whipped his head around to glare
harshly at his friend then turned it on the other two as well.
"Attitude, Warrick. All of us have to be more careful. We
have no idea what Greg might be able to sense or pick up on."
The object of the reprimand looked up at his boss, a
repentant expression on his face
"An' the last thing he needs to feel around him is anger and
violence. I get it. I'm sorry."
"Tell him. I have to get going. I'll be back as soon as I
can."
"You'll call the minute there's news?" Catherine asked, her
eyes pleading with him to do all he could to draw a usable confession
from Brett Sawyer.
"Absolutely."
As Grissom left, Warrick nudged his chair a little closer to
the bed. Gently, he pulled up the blankets and slipped Greg's chilled
hands under them, talking softly.
"I really am sorry, Greggo. If I scared you I didn't mean it.
Hey, did you hear the good news? The guys who hurt you are both
behind bars and we're all gonna make sure they stay there 'till they
need dentures an' walkers."
"It's true, I swear." Catherine continued. "It's all okay,
now. You put your focus on getting better. That's all you need to
think about. We're all right here with you... we're not going
anywhere."
----------------------
-----
THE STATION
"That's him?"
Brass chuckled darkly.
"Yeah. Doesn't look like much, does he? Here we were all
prepared for something out of "Alien"... and we end up with a
cockroach."
"He wasn't the only one involved."
Brass sobered.
"Yeah. Too damn true. Cimino... he's the monster we were
waitin' on. Somebody whacked that guy with an evil stick in-utero."
"Has he been a lot of trouble?" Grissom asked, turning from
the interrogation room window to gaze at the man beside him.
"Nah. He sits in the cell and stares at everybody that walks
by or comes up to the bars. Won't talk, won't eat. He just... follows
you with his eyes. He's freaked out half the cops on the first two
shifts already. One or two are convinced he's gonna spit pea soup and
make his head do a three-sixty."
Gil sighed and turned back to the glass.
"Why do we insist on looking for supernatural sources for
evil? Evil was probably man's real first invention."
"You don't believe in Satan?"
"I believe Lucifer may have existed, but blaming a pissed off
angel for everything we do wrong makes as much sense as the Twinkie
defense, Jim. It's another convenient excuse to avoid taking
responsibility for our human weaknesses." Gil replied as he opened
the door and stepped into the room. Jim paused, grinned and followed,
closing the door behind him.
"Brett Sawyer? I'm Gil Grissom. I'm..."
"I know who you are. Sanders told me enough times. Little
bitch couldn't shut up about you."
Jim quickly glanced at Grissom, wondering if the fact that
the victim was someone he was close to would allow the typical filthy
slurs to sink any deeper than they usually did. He was gratified to
see no trace of concern or distaste on his colleague's face.
"And I know you. Saves time. Let's get down to business,
shall we?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
TBC......OOU 16/?
------------
Most of the group looked up hopefully when Warrick returned,
but their faces fell when they realized Sara wasn't with him.
"I tried." he explained. "She's pretty messed up right now.
Talkin' about how she's a robot an' robots don't have feelings..."
Grissom winced faintly, but everyone else was focused on the
other man and took no notice. Dropping back into his chair, Warrick
studied his hands for a long moment then looked up at Nick.
"So. You wanna tell me what that was all about, man? Sara
took one look at you an' lit outta here like her head was on fire an'
her ass was catchin'."
Nick sighed and looked to Catherine.
"It's your story, Nicky, not mine or Gil's. If you're ready
to expand the inner circle... tell it."
After a deep steadying breath or two, Nick related the tale
of his childhood abuse to Warrick.
"An' you think Sara... No. No way. Forget it."
"She rejects her emotions, she knows that trick about
blanking your mind when somebody... Trust me, she's been molested.
Not just once like I was, either. I'd stake my last nickel on it."
"Shit... you two are stronger than I ever knew. How did I
miss it? You, Sara... how did I *not* see that?"
"That's the thing about bein' a long-term survivor, Rick.
Either you get the right help an' make peace with it so there's
nothin' for anyone to see, or you dig a grave an' bury it so deep it
never shows on the surface unless somethin' makes you remember."
Gil's phone rang shrilly into the prolonged silence that
followed Nick's quiet, but powerful statement. Glad for a reason to
escape the emotionally charged atmosphere, Grissom moved into the
corridor to take the call, briefly touching Nick's shoulder in
support on the way out.
"Grissom."
"It's Jim. Sawyer is getting antsy and so is his so-called
legal representation."
"Is there any way we can buy more time? Any way at all?"
"I don't know. Cimino was caught red-handed in the middle of
attempted murder an' the guy who caught him is conscious to testify,
so... no problem. Sawyer, on the other hand, is a lot more shaky."
"We have the tape..."
"Yeah, but as I understand it the ID was made long after it
ran out. If Cimino doesn't roll or Sanders doesn't come to in time..."
"I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Speakin' of the kid... how is he? The doctors got anything
new?"
"Not really. The swelling seems to be going down slowly. My
guess, he'll be awake and off the ventilator by day after tomorrow."
"Too late to get Sawyer. Way too late..."
"Not if I haven't lost my touch."
"There's always hope. See you in twenty?"
"Somewhere in there. Bye, Jim."
"Bye."
Gil stepped back in, tucked his phone away and addressed the
remaining group. "That was Brass. They may lose Sawyer."
Nick suddenly sat forward, releasing some of his frustration
in a mild explosion of anger and disbelief.
"What? No, damn it! Greg ID'd the son of a bitch!"
"After the tape had stopped. By the time Greg can confirm his
identification, Sawyer's attorney will have gotten him released."
Warrick slammed a fist into his thigh and ground out what
everyone was thinking.
"He steps one foot on the street we'll never see him again."
"That's why I'm going in to talk to him. Of the two, he's
more likely to break."
"I know a few things I could break for him..." Warrick
muttered forebodingly. Grissom whipped his head around to glare
harshly at his friend then turned it on the other two as well.
"Attitude, Warrick. All of us have to be more careful. We
have no idea what Greg might be able to sense or pick up on."
The object of the reprimand looked up at his boss, a
repentant expression on his face
"An' the last thing he needs to feel around him is anger and
violence. I get it. I'm sorry."
"Tell him. I have to get going. I'll be back as soon as I
can."
"You'll call the minute there's news?" Catherine asked, her
eyes pleading with him to do all he could to draw a usable confession
from Brett Sawyer.
"Absolutely."
As Grissom left, Warrick nudged his chair a little closer to
the bed. Gently, he pulled up the blankets and slipped Greg's chilled
hands under them, talking softly.
"I really am sorry, Greggo. If I scared you I didn't mean it.
Hey, did you hear the good news? The guys who hurt you are both
behind bars and we're all gonna make sure they stay there 'till they
need dentures an' walkers."
"It's true, I swear." Catherine continued. "It's all okay,
now. You put your focus on getting better. That's all you need to
think about. We're all right here with you... we're not going
anywhere."
----------------------
-----
THE STATION
"That's him?"
Brass chuckled darkly.
"Yeah. Doesn't look like much, does he? Here we were all
prepared for something out of "Alien"... and we end up with a
cockroach."
"He wasn't the only one involved."
Brass sobered.
"Yeah. Too damn true. Cimino... he's the monster we were
waitin' on. Somebody whacked that guy with an evil stick in-utero."
"Has he been a lot of trouble?" Grissom asked, turning from
the interrogation room window to gaze at the man beside him.
"Nah. He sits in the cell and stares at everybody that walks
by or comes up to the bars. Won't talk, won't eat. He just... follows
you with his eyes. He's freaked out half the cops on the first two
shifts already. One or two are convinced he's gonna spit pea soup and
make his head do a three-sixty."
Gil sighed and turned back to the glass.
"Why do we insist on looking for supernatural sources for
evil? Evil was probably man's real first invention."
"You don't believe in Satan?"
"I believe Lucifer may have existed, but blaming a pissed off
angel for everything we do wrong makes as much sense as the Twinkie
defense, Jim. It's another convenient excuse to avoid taking
responsibility for our human weaknesses." Gil replied as he opened
the door and stepped into the room. Jim paused, grinned and followed,
closing the door behind him.
"Brett Sawyer? I'm Gil Grissom. I'm..."
"I know who you are. Sanders told me enough times. Little
bitch couldn't shut up about you."
Jim quickly glanced at Grissom, wondering if the fact that
the victim was someone he was close to would allow the typical filthy
slurs to sink any deeper than they usually did. He was gratified to
see no trace of concern or distaste on his colleague's face.
"And I know you. Saves time. Let's get down to business,
shall we?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
A staring contest ensued that lasted almost twenty minutes. Gil never
flinched, but Sawyer grew more and more restless and uncomfortable.
Finally, he made the first move, just as his interrogator had
intended.
"What do you *want*?" he barked. "You can't keep me here much
longer, you know. God... you drag me out of my house, throw false
charges at me, lock me up with... with real criminals... I tell you
what, my lawyer's in the process of suing all your asses into the
next century!"
Grissom grinned lightly.
"Brett..."
"Yeah? What?"
"I don't understand this. I've looked at your background
and... I just don't get it. How does a good man, with an education
and no previous criminal record, wake up one day and decide that
destroying someone else's life is no big deal? I really hope you can
explain it to me, because... it just doesn't make sense."
"You're the one not making sense. I don't know what you're
talking about."
"Oh? Then you deny the charges?"
"Damn right I deny them. I did nothing wrong."
"You do admit you know Greg Sanders."
"He's a friend. So?"
"Do you have nasty, derogatory names for all your friends?"
"What?"
"When I introduced myself you said..."
"That? It's a nickname... a joke. He works with other
people's blood every day, but show him a drop of his own and he acts
like a little girl... so his nickname's bitch."
"You drugged, raped and beat another man. What does that make
you?"
"I didn't... I would never do that! You're sick!"
"You know, you can skip the cry of the righteously indignant
and go straight to remorse and confession if you'd like. Inevitably,
that's where we'll end up, but I prefer the shortcut."
"I didn't rape anybody."
"Since he wasn't aware and fighting back, I'm sure you don't
*think* you did. Did you even know you'd used too large a dose?"
"Dose of what?"
"The drug you put in Greg Sanders' drink."
"I never drugged anybody in my life! Where are you getting
this?!"
"You're saying it was your fellow rapist that did the
spiking?"
"Well it wasn't me!"
Sawyer paled, realizing too late that he had slipped. In
response to Grissom's next question, he back-pedaled into total
denial, though his mind was screaming that even one mistake was too
many. Grissom, however, had a game plan and while he noted and filed
away the error and the physical response from his suspect, he let it
slide and continued on as if he had noticed nothing strange.
"Who made Greg's drink?"
"What drink?"
"He was never at your house."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you."
Grissom smiled thinly and tilted his head towards where Brass
stood, leaning quietly against the observation window.
"Jim. Could I have that item I asked you to bring? And a pair
of gloves, if you happen to have any with you."
"Sure." The older man replied, handing over a small evidence
bag and the requested gloves. Grissom handed one glove back to him.
He wanted to question the move, but Gil's eyes asked him to trust and
he readily complied. Grissom laid the bag on the table, sat back and
initiated another round of silence, forcing Sawyer to come up with an
answer.
"A watch. I'm quaking with fear."
"You should be. It was found in your nightstand."
"Uh-huh."
"You're saying it's yours?"
"I bought it two weeks ago. Paid over a hundred and fifty for
it at a jeweler on the strip."
"And if I could produce ten witnesses that have all seen Greg
Sanders wearing this watch over the past month?"
"They'd all be liars." Sawyer asserted, his face
darkening. "I know my own watch, don't I?"
"I'd think so. Tell me, Brett, is there anything special
about your watch?"
"Special? Like what?"
"You tell me."
"It's a watch. It doesn't make coffee or cook a roast."
"Funny. Nice wit."
Gil picked up his half of the set of gloves, took his time snapping
it on and adjusting the fit and carefully removed the watch from the
bag. He then held it over his shoulder. "Jim, would you put that
glove on and do me a favor? Take a good close look at this... and
give me your observations."
"Okay... it's not three-dollar, convenience store junk... but if it
cost one-fifty I'm Wayne Newton. And I'm not. Case looks to be real
silver, though I can't be sure. And on the other side..." he said
turning it over, "... an inscription. Doesn't make much sense. It's
just... lines of capital letters. DGU, then DGI under that... the
last one is IBIY."
Grissom accepted the watch back, returned it to the bag and slipped
the bag into his own pocket.
"What does that mean, Brett?"
"How do I know? My... my girlfriend did it. Some stupid woman thing."
"Something... romantic maybe?"
"Could be."
"Then why wouldn't she tell you what the letters meant?"
"I don't know." the other responded slowly, rising anger evident in
his tone.
"Wrong answer."
"Hell with you! You know so much, you tell me what..."
Sawyer's words petered out as Grissom began to smile. "You're
*trying* to make me mad. Bastard..."
"Occasionally, when the need arises. Now if we can get back to you?
What I'm trying to find out is why you don't know the meaning of the
inscription... if the watch is yours."
"It is and I'm *not* letting you run a head game on me! You've got
no more idea what that watch says than I do!"
Gil smiled wider and addressed his colleague again.
"Jim, would you call Catherine at the hospital and ask her to join
us?"
"Absolutely."
------------------------
"He wants... why? But can't you... oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll be there. He
understands I don't want to be away for too long.. Yeah. Right. Bye."
Nick looked at her curiously.
"Work?"
"No. Brass says Grissom wants me down at the station for a little
while but he won't say why." She explained, gathering her purse and
coat. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Okay." Warrick replied, touching her hand briefly as she moved past
him. "If you have a chance to help nail Sawyer's ass to a prison cell
floor..."
"I'll do it." she vowed, stopping for a moment at Greg's side. "Don't
worry, okay? I won't be gone long. You hang in and keep getting
stronger."
Once Catherine left, another period of deep silence descended on the
room. When Nick finally spoke up, Warrick was so startled he had to
make an effort to stay in his chair.
"Sorry, man ..." Nick said, suppressing a laugh.
"No... it's alright. If I wasn't following some dusty trails in my
head..."
"You too? Which ones?"
"The Adler case mostly."
"Adler..."
"Started out as a Jane Doe." Warrick reminded Nick. "Young black
woman, shot in the head and raped.... left on the side of the road."
"Yeah... I got it now. Sara... she got pretty lost in that one."
"I remember Gris tellin' me he couldn't pull her away from the
missing persons lists 'till she found out who the lady was."
"Sara tried to get the boss to let her stay on scene that time, but
he vetoed her... sent her to the hospital to do the kit. I remember
lookin' up and wonderin' what happened to upset her so bad... God...
how many times did we just gloss over what we shouda been pickin' up
on? What *I* shoulda picked up on..."
"Don't beat yourself up, Nick. You weren't the only one who went
blind. Still... maybe that's part of bein' a survivor too."
"What is?"
"Missin' the signs in somebody close to you. Helpin' them confront
their abuse would just cause a back up in your own mental sewer
line... so unconsciously you try *not* to see."
"You think I... My God. You're sayin' on some level I knew Sara was
in trouble... but I chose to protect myself..." Nick reasoned.
Suddenly shaking, he pushed back his chair and stood, though, to
Warrick, the other man's knees didn't look like they'd hold him up
very long. He rose as well and moved swiftly to support his
distraught friend, bracing him with a strong hand under his elbow and
an arm around his shoulders.
"I didn't say you *chose* anything, Nick... if it happened it was
probably an automatic defense... somethin' you learned to do so you
didn't have to feel that pain over and over every damn day of your
life. You didn't do it on purpose..."
Nick breathed deeply and slowly straightened away from Warrick,
acutely aware of how the last few days had drained him.
"Maybe. Thing is, now that I know... I have to try an' throw her a
rope. No matter what she thinks, ignorin' it only makes it worse."
" *We* have to throw it."
"Okay. *We* have to. First *we* have to find her."
"I'll call Vega, have him put together a low-key search."
"Suggest he start with the lab and the station."
"Right. There are maybe a thousand places she could hide out just in
that set of buildings."
"I'll call Brass. Maybe he's seen her since she high-tailed it outta
here."
------------------------
THE STATION:
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming down, Catherine. I need you to look at
something for me... and tell me if you recognize it."
He pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and gave it to her. He was
gratified to hear her gasp of recognition, but his heart also twisted
painfully, knowing the renewed pain Catherine was suffering. "Tell
me." he encouraged.
"This... this is Greg's."
Sawyer, watching his last chance at freedom circle the proverbial
drain, made one last attempt at protesting his innocence. Standing
abruptly, he shouted wildly and lunged forward, wanting the room to
be thrown into chaos. It didn't work.
"That's a lie! She's lying! I told you I bought it two weeks ago!
Bitch wouldn't know enough to pick out something that good for
himself..."
Brass walked over and stood behind Sawyer, placing his hands on the
man's shoulders. His anger was palpable, filling the area around both
of them, and Sawyer reacted instantly. The result was that Brass
didn't even have to apply any pressure to get the suspect quieted
down and back into his seat.
"Stay there... and shut up unless you're asked a question. Clear?"
He got a sullen nod in response. "Go ahead, Grissom."
"How do you know that's Greg's watch, Catherine?"
"I gave it to him as a gift last month. I've been seeing so much
improvement in his field work... and he wants to be a CSI so bad... I
wanted to encourage him."
Gil was now staring at the table, knowing that if he looked at her,
it was likely they'd both fall apart.
"Is there anything special about it?"
"Yeah... I had it inscribed. What I wanted to say wouldn't fit, so I
had them do the initials instead... DGU, DGI, IBIY." she recited.
"Which stand for..."
Catherine swallowed with difficulty, brushed a stray tear from her
face and responded hoarsely, forcing the words out.
"Don't Give Up. Don't Give In. I Believe In You."
When he looked back up at Brett Sawyer, Gil knew the effort and the
time had been worthwhile. The man hadn't completely broken yet, but
he was so close to the edge that it didn't matter.
"Brett? It's your turn."
"You... don't understand. You couldn't possibly... it wasn't supposed
to happen that way... I never wanted..."
"I know. Just tell us the whole story, exactly the way you remember
it...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Involuntarily, Brass tightened his fingers on Sawyer's shoulders. The
man's hiss of pain made him realize what he was doing and he loosened
his grip slightly. He had to take a few deep breaths to rid himself
of enough rage to even be able to continue the interrogation, a job
he had claimed for the moment because what had their suspect had just
told them had stunned the normally unflappable Gil Grissom into
temporary silence.
"So... let me get this straight. You tell me if I get any
part of it wrong. The rape and beating of an innocent kid who never
did anything to deserve it... started out as a joke?"
"That's what I said."
"Say more." Brass growled.
"There is nothing more."
"Oh yeah... there is. First of all... I wanna know how
this "joke" was supposed to go down. You hear me? Start talking."
"Steve and me... we were sitting around drunk out of our
minds... I don't remember how it happened... or what got him thinking
about Greg... but he started ragging on him... calling him a... a
little pussy. He always did that whenever Sanders wasn't around. He'd
be all friendly to his face and badmouth him the minute his back was
turned."
Brass felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and let go of
Sawyer to check out who it was. Reading the display, he looked at
Grissom and caught his eye.
"Stokes."
Gil nodded to him and Jim stepped into the hall.
"Keep going, Brett."
"Yeah... well, all of a sudden, Steve said he knew where to
get some GHB. He laughed... said we should slip some to Greg, just
enough so he couldn't fight back... and then pull his pants down and
find out the truth. He thought that was so damned funny... so did I
until..."
"Until what?"
"Until he showed up at my house Thursday night. He said he'd
called Greg pretending to be me... and Sanders was on his way over...
and we were gonna punk him just like we planned. I got mad... told
him I didn't agree to any plan, but when he wants something... Steve
gets scary. You don't say no. He gave me the glass he'd put the drug
in..."
"And you mixed Greg's drink in that glass?"
"Yeah. At first I thought... Steve was right. Greg looking
like he was about to barf, dizzy and stumbling around... it was
funny."
"Then?"
"Then we helped him down the hall. We told him we were taking
him to the bathroom... but we carried him into the bedroom instead...
by then he was pretty out of it..."
Feeling her gag reflex about to kick in, Catherine turned and
made her escape. She stood outside, half bent over while she tried to
steady her breathing, but nothing seemed to help. Just like that
night in the emergency room, she ran for the bathroom and surrendered
everything she'd eaten for the last few hours.
This time Jim was waiting for her when she emerged.
"You okay?"
"Not really."
"Yeah. I know..."
"What was the call about?"
"Nick wanted me to be on the lookout for Sidle and call him
if I see her. Anything going on I should be aware of?"
Catherine sighed and rubbed a hand through her hair.
"Not sure yet. She got upset at the hospital and took off.
It'd just make us feel better if we knew where she landed when she
ran out of gas."
"There's way more to that story isn't there?"
"Unfortunately... look, I wanna get back to Greg. I promise
to tell you what I can later, okay? You coming over to see him?"
"For a few minutes, before I head home in the morning. All
the tubes and IV's... it's not easy, you know? I like the kid. He's
got a great mind, insight I'd give just about anything to have..."
"He''ll recover..."
"They can't fix everything with a scalpel and a bandage,
Cath. Some wounds he's gonna have for a long, long time."
"It'll be up to us to heal those."
"Hmmph. Maybe. It'd feel good to be on that end of it for
once... actually doing something to help instead of just passing the
problem to the DA and the pain to the victim's family. Don't know
what I'd bring to the party, though..."
"You have a lot of talents, Jim. You'll think of something."
"I can try. Tell him I'll be there in a few hours, okay? And
tell him this..."
Leaning close he whispered in her ear. Catherine blushed
furiously.
"You're serious?"
"Trust me, the kid has a side you guys never see and a sense
of humor... he's told me jokes that make that one sound like it came
out of a Disney movie. Just tell him."
"Okay... if I can make my mouth form the words..."
On her way out, Catherine stopped in the AV lab to see Archie
and check on the progress of the project. When she softly knocked, he
smiled broadly and beckoned her in.
"How's it coming?"
"Done." He said, handing her a jewel case that was lying
beside the computer he was currently working on. "Personally, I think
it came out great. I'll let you be the judge, though. I made a
label... and right here, I put the name of each song and whose
contribution it was."
"This is amazing, Arch. Thanks so much for being willing to
do this. Greg's gonna love it... wait. This can't be right." She told
him, pointing to a certain name. Archie grinned.
"It is. He gave me the CD himself."
"But... Brass? Really?"
"Yeah. He may be the toughest cop in three states, but off
the job... there are other sides to him. Don't tell anybody, though.
He'd kill me if it got out that he listens to..."
"I understand. Lips are sealed." She replied, holding up a
hand and laying the other across her heart. "I'll check this out
tonight and bring it back tomorrow."
"Okay. If there are any changes you think I should make..."
"I'm sure it's perfect."
"There's a song on there from me." He added, shyly. "I hope
that was okay."
"Are you kidding? I was planning to ask if you wanted to, but
with Cimino and..."
"I know."
"What song is... oh. Oh, Archie, what a great choice.
Completely appropriate."
"You know it? It's a little depressing..."
"Maybe, but that's not what the song's about. It's the chorus
that says it all."
"Yeah... that's what I thought. When I heard it on the radio
the other day, I was racking my brain trying to come up with a song
that would sort of... tie the whole CD together and be a message from
all of us. That one just fit."
"It really does. Great work. Thanks again." Catherine told
him, hugging him fiercely.
"No problem. It made me feel like I was doing something, you
know? I've been feeling kind of... helpless since this all went down."
"You're not. This is a big help, Archie." She said, waving
the case. "And he knows everybody here's thinking good thoughts about
him. I have to believe he can feel that."
"I hope so. You heading back to see him now?"
"Yeah."
"Tell him he better get his butt back here soon. His work's
piled up to the ceiling and the rest of the lab's picking up the
slack."
"You miss him. Check."
------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL
When Catherine returned, Warrick was dozing lightly in one of
the bedside chairs and Nick was deeply asleep in the extra bed. At
her entrance, the man in the chair opened his eyes and straightened a
little.
"He's out again? What happened?" she asked quietly, dropping
into the seat next to Warrick.
"It's partly his arm... I think."
"And the rest?"
"We got talkin' about Sara again. I shot my mouth off, made him feel
guilty... He was shaken up pretty bad, so I made him lie down and
rest. I can't stand to see him take all the responsibility on his own
head... I told him we all missed the signs, but..."
"As a survivor he thinks he should have had psychic powers and X-ray
vision?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"I'll talk to him when he wakes up... see if I can help. Any word
from Sara yet, by the way?"
"No. Vega and Brass are keeping an eye out around the lab and the
station, just in case. She'll show up when she's ready."
"I guess. Hey, look what I picked up."
"Alright. Done?"
"Totally. You want a shock? Look at this..." she commented, pointing
to Brass' song.
"No way. Jim Brass?"
"Archie confirmed it."
"He did tell me the song he picked might pop a cap in his tough guy
rep. He was kinda right. Still... the song's perfect. I mean...
Greg's done that for all of us at different times."
"You think that's great? Check out the last track."
"Whoa... "
"Yeah. That was my reaction."
"There's no name on that one. Who?"
"That was Archie's choice. Said he thought it would wrap the whole
thing up perfectly... a great big hug from all of us."
"Damn... you know, the point of this wasn't to make the kid bawl his
eyes out... but I think it's gonna do that anyway."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
flinched, but Sawyer grew more and more restless and uncomfortable.
Finally, he made the first move, just as his interrogator had
intended.
"What do you *want*?" he barked. "You can't keep me here much
longer, you know. God... you drag me out of my house, throw false
charges at me, lock me up with... with real criminals... I tell you
what, my lawyer's in the process of suing all your asses into the
next century!"
Grissom grinned lightly.
"Brett..."
"Yeah? What?"
"I don't understand this. I've looked at your background
and... I just don't get it. How does a good man, with an education
and no previous criminal record, wake up one day and decide that
destroying someone else's life is no big deal? I really hope you can
explain it to me, because... it just doesn't make sense."
"You're the one not making sense. I don't know what you're
talking about."
"Oh? Then you deny the charges?"
"Damn right I deny them. I did nothing wrong."
"You do admit you know Greg Sanders."
"He's a friend. So?"
"Do you have nasty, derogatory names for all your friends?"
"What?"
"When I introduced myself you said..."
"That? It's a nickname... a joke. He works with other
people's blood every day, but show him a drop of his own and he acts
like a little girl... so his nickname's bitch."
"You drugged, raped and beat another man. What does that make
you?"
"I didn't... I would never do that! You're sick!"
"You know, you can skip the cry of the righteously indignant
and go straight to remorse and confession if you'd like. Inevitably,
that's where we'll end up, but I prefer the shortcut."
"I didn't rape anybody."
"Since he wasn't aware and fighting back, I'm sure you don't
*think* you did. Did you even know you'd used too large a dose?"
"Dose of what?"
"The drug you put in Greg Sanders' drink."
"I never drugged anybody in my life! Where are you getting
this?!"
"You're saying it was your fellow rapist that did the
spiking?"
"Well it wasn't me!"
Sawyer paled, realizing too late that he had slipped. In
response to Grissom's next question, he back-pedaled into total
denial, though his mind was screaming that even one mistake was too
many. Grissom, however, had a game plan and while he noted and filed
away the error and the physical response from his suspect, he let it
slide and continued on as if he had noticed nothing strange.
"Who made Greg's drink?"
"What drink?"
"He was never at your house."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you."
Grissom smiled thinly and tilted his head towards where Brass
stood, leaning quietly against the observation window.
"Jim. Could I have that item I asked you to bring? And a pair
of gloves, if you happen to have any with you."
"Sure." The older man replied, handing over a small evidence
bag and the requested gloves. Grissom handed one glove back to him.
He wanted to question the move, but Gil's eyes asked him to trust and
he readily complied. Grissom laid the bag on the table, sat back and
initiated another round of silence, forcing Sawyer to come up with an
answer.
"A watch. I'm quaking with fear."
"You should be. It was found in your nightstand."
"Uh-huh."
"You're saying it's yours?"
"I bought it two weeks ago. Paid over a hundred and fifty for
it at a jeweler on the strip."
"And if I could produce ten witnesses that have all seen Greg
Sanders wearing this watch over the past month?"
"They'd all be liars." Sawyer asserted, his face
darkening. "I know my own watch, don't I?"
"I'd think so. Tell me, Brett, is there anything special
about your watch?"
"Special? Like what?"
"You tell me."
"It's a watch. It doesn't make coffee or cook a roast."
"Funny. Nice wit."
Gil picked up his half of the set of gloves, took his time snapping
it on and adjusting the fit and carefully removed the watch from the
bag. He then held it over his shoulder. "Jim, would you put that
glove on and do me a favor? Take a good close look at this... and
give me your observations."
"Okay... it's not three-dollar, convenience store junk... but if it
cost one-fifty I'm Wayne Newton. And I'm not. Case looks to be real
silver, though I can't be sure. And on the other side..." he said
turning it over, "... an inscription. Doesn't make much sense. It's
just... lines of capital letters. DGU, then DGI under that... the
last one is IBIY."
Grissom accepted the watch back, returned it to the bag and slipped
the bag into his own pocket.
"What does that mean, Brett?"
"How do I know? My... my girlfriend did it. Some stupid woman thing."
"Something... romantic maybe?"
"Could be."
"Then why wouldn't she tell you what the letters meant?"
"I don't know." the other responded slowly, rising anger evident in
his tone.
"Wrong answer."
"Hell with you! You know so much, you tell me what..."
Sawyer's words petered out as Grissom began to smile. "You're
*trying* to make me mad. Bastard..."
"Occasionally, when the need arises. Now if we can get back to you?
What I'm trying to find out is why you don't know the meaning of the
inscription... if the watch is yours."
"It is and I'm *not* letting you run a head game on me! You've got
no more idea what that watch says than I do!"
Gil smiled wider and addressed his colleague again.
"Jim, would you call Catherine at the hospital and ask her to join
us?"
"Absolutely."
------------------------
"He wants... why? But can't you... oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll be there. He
understands I don't want to be away for too long.. Yeah. Right. Bye."
Nick looked at her curiously.
"Work?"
"No. Brass says Grissom wants me down at the station for a little
while but he won't say why." She explained, gathering her purse and
coat. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Okay." Warrick replied, touching her hand briefly as she moved past
him. "If you have a chance to help nail Sawyer's ass to a prison cell
floor..."
"I'll do it." she vowed, stopping for a moment at Greg's side. "Don't
worry, okay? I won't be gone long. You hang in and keep getting
stronger."
Once Catherine left, another period of deep silence descended on the
room. When Nick finally spoke up, Warrick was so startled he had to
make an effort to stay in his chair.
"Sorry, man ..." Nick said, suppressing a laugh.
"No... it's alright. If I wasn't following some dusty trails in my
head..."
"You too? Which ones?"
"The Adler case mostly."
"Adler..."
"Started out as a Jane Doe." Warrick reminded Nick. "Young black
woman, shot in the head and raped.... left on the side of the road."
"Yeah... I got it now. Sara... she got pretty lost in that one."
"I remember Gris tellin' me he couldn't pull her away from the
missing persons lists 'till she found out who the lady was."
"Sara tried to get the boss to let her stay on scene that time, but
he vetoed her... sent her to the hospital to do the kit. I remember
lookin' up and wonderin' what happened to upset her so bad... God...
how many times did we just gloss over what we shouda been pickin' up
on? What *I* shoulda picked up on..."
"Don't beat yourself up, Nick. You weren't the only one who went
blind. Still... maybe that's part of bein' a survivor too."
"What is?"
"Missin' the signs in somebody close to you. Helpin' them confront
their abuse would just cause a back up in your own mental sewer
line... so unconsciously you try *not* to see."
"You think I... My God. You're sayin' on some level I knew Sara was
in trouble... but I chose to protect myself..." Nick reasoned.
Suddenly shaking, he pushed back his chair and stood, though, to
Warrick, the other man's knees didn't look like they'd hold him up
very long. He rose as well and moved swiftly to support his
distraught friend, bracing him with a strong hand under his elbow and
an arm around his shoulders.
"I didn't say you *chose* anything, Nick... if it happened it was
probably an automatic defense... somethin' you learned to do so you
didn't have to feel that pain over and over every damn day of your
life. You didn't do it on purpose..."
Nick breathed deeply and slowly straightened away from Warrick,
acutely aware of how the last few days had drained him.
"Maybe. Thing is, now that I know... I have to try an' throw her a
rope. No matter what she thinks, ignorin' it only makes it worse."
" *We* have to throw it."
"Okay. *We* have to. First *we* have to find her."
"I'll call Vega, have him put together a low-key search."
"Suggest he start with the lab and the station."
"Right. There are maybe a thousand places she could hide out just in
that set of buildings."
"I'll call Brass. Maybe he's seen her since she high-tailed it outta
here."
------------------------
THE STATION:
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming down, Catherine. I need you to look at
something for me... and tell me if you recognize it."
He pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and gave it to her. He was
gratified to hear her gasp of recognition, but his heart also twisted
painfully, knowing the renewed pain Catherine was suffering. "Tell
me." he encouraged.
"This... this is Greg's."
Sawyer, watching his last chance at freedom circle the proverbial
drain, made one last attempt at protesting his innocence. Standing
abruptly, he shouted wildly and lunged forward, wanting the room to
be thrown into chaos. It didn't work.
"That's a lie! She's lying! I told you I bought it two weeks ago!
Bitch wouldn't know enough to pick out something that good for
himself..."
Brass walked over and stood behind Sawyer, placing his hands on the
man's shoulders. His anger was palpable, filling the area around both
of them, and Sawyer reacted instantly. The result was that Brass
didn't even have to apply any pressure to get the suspect quieted
down and back into his seat.
"Stay there... and shut up unless you're asked a question. Clear?"
He got a sullen nod in response. "Go ahead, Grissom."
"How do you know that's Greg's watch, Catherine?"
"I gave it to him as a gift last month. I've been seeing so much
improvement in his field work... and he wants to be a CSI so bad... I
wanted to encourage him."
Gil was now staring at the table, knowing that if he looked at her,
it was likely they'd both fall apart.
"Is there anything special about it?"
"Yeah... I had it inscribed. What I wanted to say wouldn't fit, so I
had them do the initials instead... DGU, DGI, IBIY." she recited.
"Which stand for..."
Catherine swallowed with difficulty, brushed a stray tear from her
face and responded hoarsely, forcing the words out.
"Don't Give Up. Don't Give In. I Believe In You."
When he looked back up at Brett Sawyer, Gil knew the effort and the
time had been worthwhile. The man hadn't completely broken yet, but
he was so close to the edge that it didn't matter.
"Brett? It's your turn."
"You... don't understand. You couldn't possibly... it wasn't supposed
to happen that way... I never wanted..."
"I know. Just tell us the whole story, exactly the way you remember
it...."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Involuntarily, Brass tightened his fingers on Sawyer's shoulders. The
man's hiss of pain made him realize what he was doing and he loosened
his grip slightly. He had to take a few deep breaths to rid himself
of enough rage to even be able to continue the interrogation, a job
he had claimed for the moment because what had their suspect had just
told them had stunned the normally unflappable Gil Grissom into
temporary silence.
"So... let me get this straight. You tell me if I get any
part of it wrong. The rape and beating of an innocent kid who never
did anything to deserve it... started out as a joke?"
"That's what I said."
"Say more." Brass growled.
"There is nothing more."
"Oh yeah... there is. First of all... I wanna know how
this "joke" was supposed to go down. You hear me? Start talking."
"Steve and me... we were sitting around drunk out of our
minds... I don't remember how it happened... or what got him thinking
about Greg... but he started ragging on him... calling him a... a
little pussy. He always did that whenever Sanders wasn't around. He'd
be all friendly to his face and badmouth him the minute his back was
turned."
Brass felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and let go of
Sawyer to check out who it was. Reading the display, he looked at
Grissom and caught his eye.
"Stokes."
Gil nodded to him and Jim stepped into the hall.
"Keep going, Brett."
"Yeah... well, all of a sudden, Steve said he knew where to
get some GHB. He laughed... said we should slip some to Greg, just
enough so he couldn't fight back... and then pull his pants down and
find out the truth. He thought that was so damned funny... so did I
until..."
"Until what?"
"Until he showed up at my house Thursday night. He said he'd
called Greg pretending to be me... and Sanders was on his way over...
and we were gonna punk him just like we planned. I got mad... told
him I didn't agree to any plan, but when he wants something... Steve
gets scary. You don't say no. He gave me the glass he'd put the drug
in..."
"And you mixed Greg's drink in that glass?"
"Yeah. At first I thought... Steve was right. Greg looking
like he was about to barf, dizzy and stumbling around... it was
funny."
"Then?"
"Then we helped him down the hall. We told him we were taking
him to the bathroom... but we carried him into the bedroom instead...
by then he was pretty out of it..."
Feeling her gag reflex about to kick in, Catherine turned and
made her escape. She stood outside, half bent over while she tried to
steady her breathing, but nothing seemed to help. Just like that
night in the emergency room, she ran for the bathroom and surrendered
everything she'd eaten for the last few hours.
This time Jim was waiting for her when she emerged.
"You okay?"
"Not really."
"Yeah. I know..."
"What was the call about?"
"Nick wanted me to be on the lookout for Sidle and call him
if I see her. Anything going on I should be aware of?"
Catherine sighed and rubbed a hand through her hair.
"Not sure yet. She got upset at the hospital and took off.
It'd just make us feel better if we knew where she landed when she
ran out of gas."
"There's way more to that story isn't there?"
"Unfortunately... look, I wanna get back to Greg. I promise
to tell you what I can later, okay? You coming over to see him?"
"For a few minutes, before I head home in the morning. All
the tubes and IV's... it's not easy, you know? I like the kid. He's
got a great mind, insight I'd give just about anything to have..."
"He''ll recover..."
"They can't fix everything with a scalpel and a bandage,
Cath. Some wounds he's gonna have for a long, long time."
"It'll be up to us to heal those."
"Hmmph. Maybe. It'd feel good to be on that end of it for
once... actually doing something to help instead of just passing the
problem to the DA and the pain to the victim's family. Don't know
what I'd bring to the party, though..."
"You have a lot of talents, Jim. You'll think of something."
"I can try. Tell him I'll be there in a few hours, okay? And
tell him this..."
Leaning close he whispered in her ear. Catherine blushed
furiously.
"You're serious?"
"Trust me, the kid has a side you guys never see and a sense
of humor... he's told me jokes that make that one sound like it came
out of a Disney movie. Just tell him."
"Okay... if I can make my mouth form the words..."
On her way out, Catherine stopped in the AV lab to see Archie
and check on the progress of the project. When she softly knocked, he
smiled broadly and beckoned her in.
"How's it coming?"
"Done." He said, handing her a jewel case that was lying
beside the computer he was currently working on. "Personally, I think
it came out great. I'll let you be the judge, though. I made a
label... and right here, I put the name of each song and whose
contribution it was."
"This is amazing, Arch. Thanks so much for being willing to
do this. Greg's gonna love it... wait. This can't be right." She told
him, pointing to a certain name. Archie grinned.
"It is. He gave me the CD himself."
"But... Brass? Really?"
"Yeah. He may be the toughest cop in three states, but off
the job... there are other sides to him. Don't tell anybody, though.
He'd kill me if it got out that he listens to..."
"I understand. Lips are sealed." She replied, holding up a
hand and laying the other across her heart. "I'll check this out
tonight and bring it back tomorrow."
"Okay. If there are any changes you think I should make..."
"I'm sure it's perfect."
"There's a song on there from me." He added, shyly. "I hope
that was okay."
"Are you kidding? I was planning to ask if you wanted to, but
with Cimino and..."
"I know."
"What song is... oh. Oh, Archie, what a great choice.
Completely appropriate."
"You know it? It's a little depressing..."
"Maybe, but that's not what the song's about. It's the chorus
that says it all."
"Yeah... that's what I thought. When I heard it on the radio
the other day, I was racking my brain trying to come up with a song
that would sort of... tie the whole CD together and be a message from
all of us. That one just fit."
"It really does. Great work. Thanks again." Catherine told
him, hugging him fiercely.
"No problem. It made me feel like I was doing something, you
know? I've been feeling kind of... helpless since this all went down."
"You're not. This is a big help, Archie." She said, waving
the case. "And he knows everybody here's thinking good thoughts about
him. I have to believe he can feel that."
"I hope so. You heading back to see him now?"
"Yeah."
"Tell him he better get his butt back here soon. His work's
piled up to the ceiling and the rest of the lab's picking up the
slack."
"You miss him. Check."
------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL
When Catherine returned, Warrick was dozing lightly in one of
the bedside chairs and Nick was deeply asleep in the extra bed. At
her entrance, the man in the chair opened his eyes and straightened a
little.
"He's out again? What happened?" she asked quietly, dropping
into the seat next to Warrick.
"It's partly his arm... I think."
"And the rest?"
"We got talkin' about Sara again. I shot my mouth off, made him feel
guilty... He was shaken up pretty bad, so I made him lie down and
rest. I can't stand to see him take all the responsibility on his own
head... I told him we all missed the signs, but..."
"As a survivor he thinks he should have had psychic powers and X-ray
vision?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"I'll talk to him when he wakes up... see if I can help. Any word
from Sara yet, by the way?"
"No. Vega and Brass are keeping an eye out around the lab and the
station, just in case. She'll show up when she's ready."
"I guess. Hey, look what I picked up."
"Alright. Done?"
"Totally. You want a shock? Look at this..." she commented, pointing
to Brass' song.
"No way. Jim Brass?"
"Archie confirmed it."
"He did tell me the song he picked might pop a cap in his tough guy
rep. He was kinda right. Still... the song's perfect. I mean...
Greg's done that for all of us at different times."
"You think that's great? Check out the last track."
"Whoa... "
"Yeah. That was my reaction."
"There's no name on that one. Who?"
"That was Archie's choice. Said he thought it would wrap the whole
thing up perfectly... a great big hug from all of us."
"Damn... you know, the point of this wasn't to make the kid bawl his
eyes out... but I think it's gonna do that anyway."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THIRTY MINUTES LATER:
Emerging from the interrogation room, Gil found he could
barely pick up his feet. He was utterly exhausted, in a way he had
never experienced before. On a day several months back, when he
supposed he had been looking unusually tired, Greg had thrown out
something about people he called "psychic vampires". He'd said there
were certain people he'd met once and then avoided ever after because
they seemed to drain all of his energy and positive emotion away
simply by being in the same room. Grissom would not have used the
same term, but he was ready to believe in the existence of such
people, and more than ready to believe that Brett Sawyer was one.
He made it to his office, but just barely. He closed the door
by leaning against it and slowly slid to the floor, hands over his
face. Gradually strains of music began to fill his head. At first
they were an unrecognizable jumble, but as he focused, the mess
turned into "Amazing Grace". Desperate for anything that promised
renewed strength, he mentally brought the words in over the melody
and, little by little, felt his body responding to the comfort the
familiar tune offered.
When Jim knocked on his door a few minutes later, he was able to rise
and welcome his friend.
"Hi, Jim."
"Hey. You look like I feel."
"And vice-versa. Come on in." he said, closing the door after the
other man. Grissom moved behind his desk and dropped heavily into his
seat, Jim took the chair across from him.
"That... was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. No
interrogation ever took it out of me like that... I'm whipped."
"I think part of it was being forced to keep our emotions so tightly
under control. The rest... I think was Sawyer."
He explained Greg's theory about energy vampires. Brass grinned.
"Sounds like something the kid would come out with. It does make
sense though... in a way. I've known people like that. They walk into
a room and... zap! Over the course of a few minutes, everybody stops
laughing, talking... the whole place goes dead and you feel like you
have to step outside just to take a deep breath."
Grissom's eyes drifted to his stereo.
"Music is so powerful... I think I knew that before all this, but
it's just hitting me all over again. I came in here a little while
ago and... I couldn't stay on my feet. The only thing that made it
any better was when "Amazing Grace" popped into my head. The music..."
"I know. I keep thinking about what I picked to put on Sanders' CD...
when I'm at my lowest point, I go home and listen to it... and the
world's not such a crappy place anymore."
"What did you pick?"
"Heh... you'll never believe it. Nobody will when they find out. They
just won't make the connection...."
"Okay, now I have to know."
"Uhhh..."
The rest of the sentence came out a deliberate mumble. Gil smiled.
"One more time?"
Brass sighed and stared at his hands, but this time the name came out
clearly.
"Josh Groban."
Grissom raised an eyebrow but gave no real indication of shock or
distaste.
"He's one of the most amazing voices I've heard in years; this
generation's Caruso according to the industry insiders. What's so
embarrassing about knowing good music when you hear it?"
"I've got a rep..."
"Tough, cool under pressure, somebody no criminal or situation can
shake up?"
"In a nutshell."
"That used to be my image of myself. I'm finding it doesn't really
work for me anymore. It was a way of cutting myself off... distancing
when I should have been going deeper. I remember walking into a
victim's apartment a while back. Catherine called it a cave. There
was almost no variation in color, minimal furniture... the guy used
it as a place to sleep, eat and have sex, but not much more. At the
time, I didn't see anything wrong with that. I looked at my apartment
the other night... and suddenly I had a whole new perspective. Except
for the fact that I have an insect collection and not much nookie
goes on there, my place was basically the same as his."
"And the point of this impromptu episode of a decorating show is..."
"I have a rep, too. I'm seen as cold, indifferent and married to the
job. I push people away... lock my heart in a little steel box and
let everybody think what they like about my reasons. It's not enough
anymore."
"Gil... what are you trying to say?"
"That I need to make changes and God only gives us so much time. I'm
starting to realize that if I waste much more of it... there won't be
enough left to fix things." Grissom told him, standing and moving
toward the door. He paused to squeeze Jim's shoulder and reassure
himself about the case. "Sawyer... there's no doubt we've got him?"
"None."
"Greg might not have to testify?"
"Never a guarantee, but the odds are in his favor."
"Good. He needs everything on his side that we can give him. I'll see
you for shift tonight."
"Yeah..."
"Jim... promise me you'll think about what I said?"
"Huh? Oh.. oh, yeah. I promise."
"I forgot to ask what song of Groban's you picked. I have some idea.
There's one that fits Greg perfectly... "You Raise Me Up" ?"
"Nail on the head."
"Nice selection."
"As many times as he's made me laugh when I didn't think there was
one in me... I thought so too."
"Worth risking your reputation for?"
"It will be when the kid wakes up..."
-------------------------
THE HOSPITAL:
"Nick, you of all people know the demon that survivor's guilt can be.
I understand why you're battling it right now, but in this case it
doesn't apply. You said it yourself earlier. There are two options
when you've been abused; get help or bury the memories. It isn't your
fault that Sara made the choice she did or that she was so good at
covering that none of us even guessed anything was wrong."
"It's not just a demon, Cath... it's a whole herd of 'em. Everything
you've been tellin' me makes sense. It's just so damn hard to let go
of the feelin' I coulda helped her if I'd seen it earlier..."
"She hasn't hopped a UFO to Neptune, Nicky. She's around somewhere
and when we find her we *will* help her. I've been thinking... if we
can talk Greg into outpatient therapy, the three of you could go
together."
"Me? Uh-uh. I don't need no shrink gettin' in my head and stirrin' up
the hornets. I dealt with happened to me a long time ago."
"I'm sure that's what Sara thought."
"Catherine..."
"When was the last time you had a date? How about the last time the
thought of getting intimate with somebody didn't make you sick to
your stomach?"
"Damn it, stop..." he ordered tensely, turning his face away from her
line of sight.
"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for him... so he doesn't feel
alone. You don't have to participate. If you get indirect benefit
from it, no big deal, but we have a better chance of Greg agreeing to
get help if there's at least one person there he trusts."
"God... I'll think about it, that's all."
"Thank you."
"Don't go pickin' out a card and flowers yet. I ain't made up my
mind."
"I just realized... you and Greg have something else in common. The
night you first told me about what happened to you, I think you said
you didn't remember the actual abuse... that the memory started
afterwards, when you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling."
Nick choked back a sob and cleared his throat before speaking.
"Yeah, well there's one big check mark in the "Hell No" column.
Greggo... the drugs wiped out the rape for him. He may never remember
everything. Me... I blocked my memory of that night. That means it's
still there... waitin' for me to come find it. If just knowin' it
happened has made me feel this bad all these years... I don't wanna
find out what havin' the details would do to me..."
"Like I said, you don't have to join in. Just being there would be
enough to make him feel safe."
"Maybe... I'll see, okay? Don't push... gimme time."
"You'll have plenty of that." Gil commented softly as he entered.
"What's that supposed to mean, boss?"
"Starting tomorrow night, you're on a medical leave of absence."
"What? How long?"
"A month."
"A month?! I can't take a month off. The doc this morning said this
hand'll be back to normal in a week, tops..."
"And I might have fallen for that if I hadn't spoken to him on my way
back in just now."
"Gris..."
"One month, Nick. No negotiation. You'll get the standard three-
quarter pay for all four weeks. Your little fit of pique has cost you
this week's wages, by the way. There's also a letter of reprimand in
your jacket."
"That's all? Man I thought I was at least gonna get my ass chewed."
"The punishment fit the offense in my view. I'm satisfied. Hodges, on
the other hand, is far from happy. Be prepared for a few sixth grade
stunts when you get back."
"You don't think he'll do anything worse?"
"He's not clever enough to be dangerous. If he tried anything more
serious than glue on your chair, he'd be the first and only victim."
"And five minutes after that he'd be out the door for good."
"To the delight of everyone on night shift." Catherine added.
"I'm sure."
"I gotta tell you the idea Sara and I cooked up. If I didn't know
it'd get us fired..."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Emerging from the interrogation room, Gil found he could
barely pick up his feet. He was utterly exhausted, in a way he had
never experienced before. On a day several months back, when he
supposed he had been looking unusually tired, Greg had thrown out
something about people he called "psychic vampires". He'd said there
were certain people he'd met once and then avoided ever after because
they seemed to drain all of his energy and positive emotion away
simply by being in the same room. Grissom would not have used the
same term, but he was ready to believe in the existence of such
people, and more than ready to believe that Brett Sawyer was one.
He made it to his office, but just barely. He closed the door
by leaning against it and slowly slid to the floor, hands over his
face. Gradually strains of music began to fill his head. At first
they were an unrecognizable jumble, but as he focused, the mess
turned into "Amazing Grace". Desperate for anything that promised
renewed strength, he mentally brought the words in over the melody
and, little by little, felt his body responding to the comfort the
familiar tune offered.
When Jim knocked on his door a few minutes later, he was able to rise
and welcome his friend.
"Hi, Jim."
"Hey. You look like I feel."
"And vice-versa. Come on in." he said, closing the door after the
other man. Grissom moved behind his desk and dropped heavily into his
seat, Jim took the chair across from him.
"That... was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. No
interrogation ever took it out of me like that... I'm whipped."
"I think part of it was being forced to keep our emotions so tightly
under control. The rest... I think was Sawyer."
He explained Greg's theory about energy vampires. Brass grinned.
"Sounds like something the kid would come out with. It does make
sense though... in a way. I've known people like that. They walk into
a room and... zap! Over the course of a few minutes, everybody stops
laughing, talking... the whole place goes dead and you feel like you
have to step outside just to take a deep breath."
Grissom's eyes drifted to his stereo.
"Music is so powerful... I think I knew that before all this, but
it's just hitting me all over again. I came in here a little while
ago and... I couldn't stay on my feet. The only thing that made it
any better was when "Amazing Grace" popped into my head. The music..."
"I know. I keep thinking about what I picked to put on Sanders' CD...
when I'm at my lowest point, I go home and listen to it... and the
world's not such a crappy place anymore."
"What did you pick?"
"Heh... you'll never believe it. Nobody will when they find out. They
just won't make the connection...."
"Okay, now I have to know."
"Uhhh..."
The rest of the sentence came out a deliberate mumble. Gil smiled.
"One more time?"
Brass sighed and stared at his hands, but this time the name came out
clearly.
"Josh Groban."
Grissom raised an eyebrow but gave no real indication of shock or
distaste.
"He's one of the most amazing voices I've heard in years; this
generation's Caruso according to the industry insiders. What's so
embarrassing about knowing good music when you hear it?"
"I've got a rep..."
"Tough, cool under pressure, somebody no criminal or situation can
shake up?"
"In a nutshell."
"That used to be my image of myself. I'm finding it doesn't really
work for me anymore. It was a way of cutting myself off... distancing
when I should have been going deeper. I remember walking into a
victim's apartment a while back. Catherine called it a cave. There
was almost no variation in color, minimal furniture... the guy used
it as a place to sleep, eat and have sex, but not much more. At the
time, I didn't see anything wrong with that. I looked at my apartment
the other night... and suddenly I had a whole new perspective. Except
for the fact that I have an insect collection and not much nookie
goes on there, my place was basically the same as his."
"And the point of this impromptu episode of a decorating show is..."
"I have a rep, too. I'm seen as cold, indifferent and married to the
job. I push people away... lock my heart in a little steel box and
let everybody think what they like about my reasons. It's not enough
anymore."
"Gil... what are you trying to say?"
"That I need to make changes and God only gives us so much time. I'm
starting to realize that if I waste much more of it... there won't be
enough left to fix things." Grissom told him, standing and moving
toward the door. He paused to squeeze Jim's shoulder and reassure
himself about the case. "Sawyer... there's no doubt we've got him?"
"None."
"Greg might not have to testify?"
"Never a guarantee, but the odds are in his favor."
"Good. He needs everything on his side that we can give him. I'll see
you for shift tonight."
"Yeah..."
"Jim... promise me you'll think about what I said?"
"Huh? Oh.. oh, yeah. I promise."
"I forgot to ask what song of Groban's you picked. I have some idea.
There's one that fits Greg perfectly... "You Raise Me Up" ?"
"Nail on the head."
"Nice selection."
"As many times as he's made me laugh when I didn't think there was
one in me... I thought so too."
"Worth risking your reputation for?"
"It will be when the kid wakes up..."
-------------------------
THE HOSPITAL:
"Nick, you of all people know the demon that survivor's guilt can be.
I understand why you're battling it right now, but in this case it
doesn't apply. You said it yourself earlier. There are two options
when you've been abused; get help or bury the memories. It isn't your
fault that Sara made the choice she did or that she was so good at
covering that none of us even guessed anything was wrong."
"It's not just a demon, Cath... it's a whole herd of 'em. Everything
you've been tellin' me makes sense. It's just so damn hard to let go
of the feelin' I coulda helped her if I'd seen it earlier..."
"She hasn't hopped a UFO to Neptune, Nicky. She's around somewhere
and when we find her we *will* help her. I've been thinking... if we
can talk Greg into outpatient therapy, the three of you could go
together."
"Me? Uh-uh. I don't need no shrink gettin' in my head and stirrin' up
the hornets. I dealt with happened to me a long time ago."
"I'm sure that's what Sara thought."
"Catherine..."
"When was the last time you had a date? How about the last time the
thought of getting intimate with somebody didn't make you sick to
your stomach?"
"Damn it, stop..." he ordered tensely, turning his face away from her
line of sight.
"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for him... so he doesn't feel
alone. You don't have to participate. If you get indirect benefit
from it, no big deal, but we have a better chance of Greg agreeing to
get help if there's at least one person there he trusts."
"God... I'll think about it, that's all."
"Thank you."
"Don't go pickin' out a card and flowers yet. I ain't made up my
mind."
"I just realized... you and Greg have something else in common. The
night you first told me about what happened to you, I think you said
you didn't remember the actual abuse... that the memory started
afterwards, when you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling."
Nick choked back a sob and cleared his throat before speaking.
"Yeah, well there's one big check mark in the "Hell No" column.
Greggo... the drugs wiped out the rape for him. He may never remember
everything. Me... I blocked my memory of that night. That means it's
still there... waitin' for me to come find it. If just knowin' it
happened has made me feel this bad all these years... I don't wanna
find out what havin' the details would do to me..."
"Like I said, you don't have to join in. Just being there would be
enough to make him feel safe."
"Maybe... I'll see, okay? Don't push... gimme time."
"You'll have plenty of that." Gil commented softly as he entered.
"What's that supposed to mean, boss?"
"Starting tomorrow night, you're on a medical leave of absence."
"What? How long?"
"A month."
"A month?! I can't take a month off. The doc this morning said this
hand'll be back to normal in a week, tops..."
"And I might have fallen for that if I hadn't spoken to him on my way
back in just now."
"Gris..."
"One month, Nick. No negotiation. You'll get the standard three-
quarter pay for all four weeks. Your little fit of pique has cost you
this week's wages, by the way. There's also a letter of reprimand in
your jacket."
"That's all? Man I thought I was at least gonna get my ass chewed."
"The punishment fit the offense in my view. I'm satisfied. Hodges, on
the other hand, is far from happy. Be prepared for a few sixth grade
stunts when you get back."
"You don't think he'll do anything worse?"
"He's not clever enough to be dangerous. If he tried anything more
serious than glue on your chair, he'd be the first and only victim."
"And five minutes after that he'd be out the door for good."
"To the delight of everyone on night shift." Catherine added.
"I'm sure."
"I gotta tell you the idea Sara and I cooked up. If I didn't know
it'd get us fired..."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
| TWO DAYS LATER -- 1:45 P.M. Laying on his side in the extra bed, Nick stared across the room to where Greg lay. The focus of so much attention for the past week or so was pale and unmoving, fading bruises still vividly coloring his throat. Momentarily, Nick had to close his eyes against the sight and remind himself of the hope yesterday's visit from Scott Denson had given him. Denson had been in late the previous morning and decided the young man's condition had improved to the point where he could begin to wean Greg off the sedatives and paralytics that were keeping him from fighting the ventilator. After that, he said, it might take anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours for Greg to regain consciousness. Squinting blearily at his watch, Nick realized it had been almost thirty and his friend still showed no signs of awakening. Anxious to immediately catch any variation in sound from the oxygen or cardiac monitors, he had slept only a few hours the previous evening and night. He knew he'd pay later in slower healing of his own injury, but as he had been given a month in which to concentrate on himself, he didn't regret for a moment devoting this time to Greg. Sitting up slowly, Nick stretched the kinks out as best he could and moved back into the chair he'd been occupying for the better part of two days. "Afternoon, Greggo. I'm still here, bud. I didn't go anywhere. Tried to sleep... didn't get much. The doc said you should be wakin' up soon an' I wouldn't miss that for anything. C'mon... we all miss you, man... *I* miss you. Ya know... when I saw that bas... that *guy* hurtin' you, I about died. Time, it just... stretched out an' I thought... there's no way I'll ever get to you before he can... " Nick paused, laughing a little, even through his tears. "I threw him across the room... an' then dribbled his head like a basketball. He probably still has a migraine. I wish you could've seen it. Look, the point is... there's a ton of stuff I haven't had the guts to say. I know the fact that I waited 'till this happened to speak up... makes me a coward an' a fool... but I'm really hopin' you can see past that. I'm gonna speak my piece whether you wake up or not... but, damn, I'd feel a lot better if I was sure you heard me an' I wasn't pourin' my heart out to the I.V. stand..." A few moments later, as he was gathering his thoughts and preparing to tell Greg everything he'd been holding deep inside for most of a year, Nick's head snapped up. The steady, inexorable beeps the heart monitor had been putting out had begun to speed up. "Greg? I know you can hear me. Keep pushin', Greggo... don't you quit fightin', now... that's it... yeah, that's it... come on home, buddy..." When Greg's pulse rate stepped up again and his eyelids began to flicker, Nick loosed a restrained, but joyful 'Ye-hah' and ran into the hall. "Nurse! Hey, he's comin' around!" "I'll page Dr. Denson." Nick returned to the room to find Greg trying valiantly to open his eyes and struggling to breathe in counterpoint to the ventilator. "It's okay, Greg... easy, now. The doctor's on his way. He'll have the tube out any minute...." Snatching a tissue, Nick gently wiped away a tear from the young man's cheek as he continued his quiet reassurance. "I know... not much longer. I'm here, Greg.. I'm right here. You've been so strong... just hang on another minute..." A few seconds later, Scott Denson came rushing in only to receive a scowl from Nick. "Where you been, man?! He's fightin' the damn machine! He can't breathe!" "I had to come down three floors and over two wings. I got here as soon as I could." Denson explained as he flipped switches and shut down the vent. He then stepped over to the bed and firmly grasped the tube. "I need you to listen and do exactly what I ask, alright, Greg? Take the deepest breath you can manage and hold it. Then when I say go, blow it all out, nice and steady. Okay... deep breath... and go... good... keep it up... almost there... okay. Good job." He handed the tube to the nurse to discard and carefully began to examine Greg's throat, inside and out. "The bruising still looks bad, but it's fading nicely... You'll be really sore for a few days, but the overall damage is much less than I feared. Everything looks good, but I don't want you to even *think* about talking for at least a week. Between the tube and the assault, you throat needs a lot of time and rest if it's going to heal." Nick rose and drew Denson a few feet away to talk with him. "Can he have water?" "Ice chips today. If he tolerates that well, I'll see about upgrading him tomorrow." "Okay. I understand. Look, doc... I gotta say thanks. I know we've been tough on you..." "Forgotten. A courageous young man like Greg deserves fierce protection." "Is there anything else I can do to help him? Just bein' here doesn't feel like enough..." "It does much more good than you might think. Try and keep him calm, reassure him that he's safe and he hasn't been alone. And take care of yourself. Now that he's awake and recovering, that's the most important advice I can give you." "Me? I'm fine." "Uh-huh." "Okay, so I'm tired. I've been tired before. I know how to handle it." "If you get sick and end up in your own hospital room, who'll be here for Greg?" "I can't just go to sleep and leave him layin' there..." "I seem to remember at least five more people who have been in and out of here at various times." "They'll be asleep now. All of us usually work graveyard." Denson smiled, but simultaneously expelled a sigh. "Okay. How about I have a cot delivered so you can sleep right next to the bed?" Nick returned the smile. "You got a deal." "Good. I'll have the nurse bring in a cup of ice and the cot should be here within an hour." Denson exited and Nick returned to his chair. He lifted Greg's smaller hand and encompassed it with his own. At first, his entire attention was on Greg's face, but soon a faint, jerky motion from the opposite side of the bed caught his eye. After a moment or two of confusion, he realized the young man was trying to sign. "Easy... take it easy. I know what you're tryin' to do, Greg, but I don't understand ASL, buddy. Grissom an' the gang'll probably stop in before shift. You'll have to hold on 'till then, alright? I'll even leave a special message on boss man's voice mail so he'll know you need to talk to him. Okay?" Greg nodded slightly and relaxed. "Good. Right now... it's a little past two o'clock in the afternoon. Tonight's a long way off, so I want you to close your eyes and try to sleep." Nick told him, gently stroking the fingers of his free hand across Greg's forehead. "Yeah... there you go... everything's fine... no more monsters, nothin' to be afraid of... sleep..." ----------------------------- 10:00 P.M. Nick woke gradually, dragging himself halfheartedly out of the first continuous, restful sleep he'd gotten in days. Shifting on the cot so that his arm was free he checked his watch and decided to try and reach Grissom in person. Pushing up, he slid his feet to the floor and stood, biting back a groan at how stiff his muscles were. He waited until he'd made it out into the hall before he pulled his phone out and dialed. "Gil Grissom." "Hey, Gris. You get my voice mail?" "I've only been up about half an hour, Nick. I haven't checked it yet. What's up?" "Greg came out of it early this afternoon. He's off the vent an' Denson says he's doin' okay. He'll be sore an' he's under orders not to talk for a week... but he's gonna be fine." "That's great. I'll call Catherine and Warrick and let them know." "Sara..." "We're looking. She obviously doesn't want to be found." "She'll lose her job... damn it, where the hell could she be?" "Every conceivable idea's been tried. There isn't much more we can do if she isn't ready or willing to come back." "She's in pain. We can't just leave her out there alone..." "We'll keep trying as long as it's feasible. Any other news on the Greg front?" "Yeah... kinda. This you won't believe 'till you see it, though." ------------------------------- 10:30 -- OUTSIDE GREG'S ROOM "Sign? Greg doesn't sign." Catherine said, furrowing her brow. "You and I know that, but apparently noone told him." Grissom retorted. "All I know is what Nick said; that it looked to him like Greg was trying to fingerspell." "I guess we'll find out." Warrick replied, opening the door. The room was dimly lit, but the three newcomers immediately realized that changes had taken place. The large ventilator and cardiac monitor had been wheeled away and a cot, complete with blanket and pillow, now sat on the far side of the bed. Nick met them at the door. "He's awake, but just barely. Go easy. He had a nightmare, woke himself up tryin' to scream. I've been givin' him ice chips to help his throat." As the group approached, Greg, whose eyes had been half-lidded a moment before, suddenly became animated at the sight of his boss. Though the motion of his fingers was still slow and awkward due to his weakness, what he was attempting was now clearly recognizable as sign language. [ HI ] Grissom chuckled and gazed at the young lab tech in amazement. "Hi yourself." "Greg... man, when you can talk again, I *have* to know this story." Warrick said, mussing Greg's hair gently. "Welcome back, sweetheart. You can't know how happy we are that you're okay." Catherine added. [ ME TOO ] Greg spelled slowly. Grissom translated and everyone laughed. The next question dissolved that laughter. [ SAFE? ] "Yes, you're safe." Gil assured him "The men who hurt you are both in prison and they aren't getting out anytime soon. That's a promise." Greg heaved a sigh of relief, winced visibly and shed a few tears. Nick's first instinct was to sweep the younger man into his arms and not let go until all his pain was banished, but he hesitated for a moment, acutely aware of the others around the bed. Then he remembered his earlier promise, to tell his friend everything that was in his heart no matter what. In the excitement that had followed Greg's awakening, that vow had been shunted aside and forgotten. After a swift, anxious glance at the others, Nick dropped cautiously to the bed. "Greg. Greg, look at me..." When Greg responded, he saw Nick holding his arms open. More tears flowed, on both their parts, as Greg, with the support of a strong arm around his shoulders, struggled to sit up. While always conscious of the IV line, Nick somehow found a way to enfold Greg completely. Though on any other night he would have gone to great lengths to hide the fact that he was crying, this time the former cop didn't bother to sweep his tears away. He wanted Greg to see and feel them, to know how intensely thankful he was that one occasionally annoying, genuinely beloved lab tech was still alive. "It's okay, Greggo... it's okay... we took care of it... just like we said we would... it's over, babe... it's all over..." Grissom caught the eyes of the other two and nodded toward the door. They left quietly. Neither Greg nor Nick ever heard them go. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------- END Never fear, a sequel is in the works that will follow Greg and Nick's developing relationship, Greg's gradual recovery and Sara's rescue. Oh... and their love isn't the only one that may be blossoming in CSI headquarters. Tune in to chapter one of Change Is Never Easy and find out...
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