Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
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45 MINUTES LATER
"Warrick. Warrick, wake up."
"Huh.. wha... What is it, Sara? Is Greg okay?"
"I haven't heard anything new. I woke you 'cause your pager's
been wailing for ten minutes and you were out like a light."
"Oh.... yeah. Thanks." He said sheepishly, reaching to
silence the offending object. He looked up from the device to see
Grissom standing in the doorway to the break room.
"Is that from Trace?"
"Yeah. I told him to page me when he had the results on those
glass fragments."
"Once you get that taken care of, both of you go home."
"That where you're heading?"
Gil merely looked at him in silence. "Right, I should know by
now not to ask." Warrick commented with a wry smile as he rose to his
feet. "You will get some sleep in the next twenty-four hours, right?"
"Probably."
Warrick shook his head and slid by his boss on his way to
gather his test results. Sara leaned back against the wall, eyes on
the floor and mind far from the spot where she stood. "You alright?"
"I passed alright a couple miles back. Right now I'm coming
up on ' pissed enough to break bones with my bare hands '. "
Grissom studied her carefully.
"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.
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."
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"Candle wax. So the glass was from..."
".... candle holders. That's the most likely answer anyway."
"Anything special about the wax?"
"Afraid not. It's typical commercial grade wax. It's sold in
hobby stores and new age places all over the country to people who
dip their own candles."
"They still exist?" Warrick replied, laughing slightly. "I
thought that was strictly a Seventies thing."
"Are you kidding? The anti-tech, militia and back-to-God's-
country demographic is threatening to become a majority. Candle
making is more popular than ever."
"Hmmm. So if the wax is a dead-end, the glass is still the
best lead to follow."
"I'd say so, yeah. If the candle holders were hand blown,
like I suspect, the maker won't be hard to find. Anyone who can get
violet has been at their craft for a long while. You're looking for a
master." The tech informed him, handing Warrick the printed sheets
containing the test results and his conclusions.
"Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, have you heard when Greg can have visitors?"
"He's in surgery about now. He'll be out of it most of the
morning tomorrow.... might not be a good idea to try an' see him for
a couple days. He's been through a lot." Warrick fudged, too
physically and emotionally drained to go through the full explanation
of why no men were being allowed to see Greg.
"Yeah. I get that. Just... if you could keep us updated? It
may not seem like it, but most of the night shift techs are a pretty
tight group. Something like this happens to one of us.... we'll do
anything we can to help."
"I'll see you get any news the minute after I do. Right now,
I'm goin' home to bed. It's been a long, nasty night."
"I hear that. See you tomorrow night."
"Yeah... see you."
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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....*
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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....*
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