Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: Sam
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: Gil/Greg/Nick
Warning: Language, explicit sex, angst
Summary: 1) Someone is trying to kill Greg Sanders. 2) Must be a first time story. 3) Greg must be a virgin in all ways.
Notes: Many thanks to Nell for issuing the contest challenge and to Bev for being my beta. Any mistakes are mine. Any bunnies you may find, feel free to take home with you.
-----------
Point Man
-----------
Prologue...
To say he woke up would have been a major exaggeration. Too many drugs in his system to do more than realize he *was* drugged, the why of it floating gently just within reach on wisps of gauzy white cotton before it was gone, leaving only the faintest memories of the lab in it's wake.
Hospital. He was in a hospital.
The lab had blown apart, throwing him through the plate glass window and into the hallway. If he tried real hard he thought he could remember flying, the jarring impact and tilt as he slid a bit on the debris-covered floor, coming to a stop a second later. There was silence. And then screaming. And then pain. His hands, his arms. His back...
So he refused to remember. Better to just lie here in the nice white light. Soft, it cradled him in cotton, mind and body at rest; his soul oddly comforted and at peace. He wasn't dead - there was still that nagging little faintness of pain somewhere other than where he was right now - so that must be the drugs.
Sleep beckoned and he was just about to give in when he heard voices. Whispers off to his right, low and intense in a silence filled only with muted, intermittent beeps. Curious (he always had been whenever he could overhear what people said when they talked about *him*), Greg strained to listen...smiling a little in his safe muted cocoon-world when he realized it was Nick at his bedside. Which meant Grissom wasn't far behind.
"We could have lost him today, Gris. Before we could tell him..."
"I know, Nicky." There was a pause and then, softer...so soft he almost missed it. "We didn't. Greg's still here."
"Do they know what happened?"
"Not yet. I've got Catherine investigating the explosion. We'll know more in a few days."
"The sheriff isn't thinking foul play?"
"I doubt it. Greg just isn't the kind to have enemies." A soft chuff. "Beside, I don't think anyone wants to disrupt his supply of coffee into the lab..."
A laugh. "Ain't that the truth. I wonder if he knows we all came by to see him?"
"If he doesn't, he will. We'll make sure to take better care of him from now on..."
And then he heard no more; the heavy warmth at knowing his friends were there and cared about him losing him the battle and sending him back down into sleep.
* * * * *
Point Man
"Where do you want me?" Standing out in the bright morning sun, Greg shifted from foot to foot, awaiting Nick's orders. While not his first assignment in the field, he was hoping this would be his first without any screw ups.
While disappointed, Grissom never called them that - never screw ups, only mistakes and that every CSI in training made them. Greg called them by what they were. Screw ups. He should know better by now how to act at a crime scene though for some reason he kept slipping up and doing something wrong anyway.
At least with Nick it wasn't so bad. With Nick he could relax and even joke a little. With Grissom, more often than not, he was terrified. Would end up trying too hard and missing something, following wrong procedure, or just plain blank on some obscure fact that at any other time he could rattle off in his sleep.
So far the other techs at the labs had yet to let him live down the bathroom episode. And while most of the time the rest of the night shift CSI's would buck up and treat him decently while on a case, it was clear their hearts really weren't in it.
But then, he knew from first hand experience how hard it was to do something by route so many times only to have to back up and explain it to someone not used to following along. While not too bad at first, after the hundredth question, Greg could imagine it would get old right quick. At least he had gotten lucky in the lab.
He had really thought Chandra had a chance with the night shift. That was, until he caught Warrick and Nick betting on how long it would take them to run her off. He had been disappointed at first - ok so he had been pissed - but he truly believed them when they swore it had nothing to do with him, personally. Only that her personality itself had been all wrong for the group she was going to be working with.
Hopefully this new tech could...
"Greg?"
The sound of his name snapped him back to the present. "Yeah. Sorry."
"Thinking about the house?" Nick asked with a smile on his lips, jotting notes onto a clipboard with his head down so noone else could see it but Greg. Knowing he was wit-wandering again.
"More like wondering just how the killer got in and out again without tracking in half the desert around on his shoes." Pleased with the retort, Greg realized it was even true. The front yard was mostly sand, rock and cactus with an equally precise slate and gravel pathway winding up to the front door. A sculpted agricultural monument to desert living. He frowned back into the house. "Just how *did* he do that?"
"Why don't you go tell me?" Nick suggested. "Start with the lawn out back. The front may boast more sand than your average beachfront property but the back is nice and green. There wasn't any grass found but you never know. Sand tracks a lot easier than dirt when it's anchored."
"I'm on it."
Fifteen minutes later found Greg sitting straddled over a low wall made of mortar and rock. About three feet high, it was just the right height to jump, and if that was the case - and if Greg could find corresponding transfer - then they could pinpoint the direction from which the suspect had entered the property. Possibly maybe even lead them to a getaway vehicle on further out.
Legs lightly swinging, sneakers bumping gently on the uneven stone on the sides, Greg lined up another shot with the large camera and, checking to make sure the settings were correct, snapped off a series of shots. Dirt and even a piece of what he would swear to be small gravel. Probably from the shoulder stretch of highway he could see curving just beyond the sparse line of trees about 20 yards away. Listening to the peaceful quiet and the birds singing off in the trees, he realized just how isolated this part of the house was. A sharp curve, by the time anyone realized a wall was even there they would already be passed the property and gone
Someone could have parked on the edge, maybe faking a breakdown, using something to hang out the window as a flag...
Greg shrugged, setting the camera down and preparing to swing over and go investigate. If he could find tire treads in the loose dirt and gravel of the shoulder then he would know for sure.
Just as he did, the whole wall came crumbling apart...
* * * * *
"Ow."
"Take it easy, you big baby," Brass grinned from where he stood beside the paramedic treating Greg's head wound. "It's just a little Iodine."
"Don't you know that stuff is just an insidious tool created by the pharmaceutical companies to make you want to buy the following pain killers and ointments to drown out the sting?"
The cop only chuckled. "Insidious? See I told you he was fine. Can't be concussed when he's throwing around words like that."
"You don't know Greg," Grissom opined, studying the area around the wall that fell on Greg after his tumble. "You take stills of this before you thought to pull a Humpty Dumpty?"
"Yeah. They're still in the camera. I found a bit of what could be dirt and maybe tiny bits of gravel from the highway. I was about to go check it out when the wall collapsed."
"Well?" The quirk on Grissom's lips could only be a smile as he looked at the younger man. "Shall we go investigate? See what we can find?"
Greg found himself grinning back. "Good idea."
Another Grissom grin and the older man called over his shoulder, "First one over the wall buys breakfast."
Brass clapped Greg on the back and smirked. "Too late."
* * * * *
The second time a medic was called on scene for Greg he had slipped on a wet patch of grass, saturated from the automatic sprinkler system. Narrowly missed getting beaned by a fly by bit of debris accidentally pushed out of a window by the firemen on the second floor. As it was he had a sprained ankle and had to walk around in wet denim half the night. His jeans were soaked and while he had taken Warrick's lecture on being prepared to heart (he even had a second kit ready to go behind the back seat of the jetta) he had forgotten to pack a spare set of clothing.
So he shook his head, got to work making an initial sketch of the scene and made a mental note that the first thing he did when he got home after shift was to pack that bag. It helped him ignore the shakes of heads and the looks of exasperation or downright disgust from some of the guys on scene. Unfortunately he couldn't *not* hear the snickers.
Not from his team, but that was cold comfort when he turned only to see Sara laughing with one of the cops, quickly looking away from his direction. He resolutely turned back to his notes, thereby missing the following glare she threw his way.
* * * * *
"Greg - ?"
"Don't ask, ok? Just - don't ask." Throwing his spare bag into his locker with enough force to rattle the row, Greg sat down on the bench, turning away from Catherine. Thankful that he had another set of clothes in his locker and wouldn't have to go home for something suitable for work. Even if he was just in the lab tonight.
Again.
"Ok so if I can't ask..." the redhead trailed off and Greg could hear the sarcasm in the dry tone. "Are you going to tell me why you come limping in here in torn clothes, bruises and in a mood bad enough to make Brass look like Miss Manners?"
"Don't forget the shiner I'll no doubt be sporting in about an hour. But no, I'm not." Heedless in his anger to anyone else who might be in the room, he stripped off his shirt and threw it, too, in the open cavern of his locker. "Ok, so yeah, I'm really beginning to think someone Up There is out to get me." He frowned. "Or at least has me on their naughty list."
"Naughty list - ?" She didn't see the bruises on his throat until Greg turned around. "Jesus. Greg. What the hell happened?"
"Mugged on the way to work. Not even CSI's are immune to petty thugs it would seem. But then, I'm not really a CSI, am I? So I guess that wouldn't count anyway..."
"Mugged? But..."
"Ok so technically I was shot at and then mugged, but what's the difference when it all could have just been a car backfire and since I'm only playing at being one of the big boys..."
Hoping to halt the bitter tirade, Catherine held up her hands. "Wait. Just wait. Slow down. Who said you're not one of us?"
"The cops down at the precinct."
"*Brass* said..."
"Not Brass...Tyner. Oh and he has a new partner, Ted Mercer. Those two go together like two peas in a pod... Called me a wannabe and told me they had plenty of real crimes to solve." He had stilled during his rant but now jerked back to the present, pulling on a bright orange and green Monster Magnet tshirt and lime green and brown button open over that. Horrible combination and it didn't match but Greg couldn't quite bring himself to care. Isn't that what they all said anyway? "Maybe he's right. Maybe I should just stay in the lab where I belong."
Catherine looked at him in disbelief and a little anger of her own. "No. He's *not* right, Greg. You're one of the best..."
His snort interrupted her. "Yeah in here..."
"Anywhere. So you make a few mistakes," she told him. "Who hasn't?"
"You."
"Not me. If anyone should know that, you should."
"I..." He closed his mouth. "Nick."
"Wrong. Think Kristy. Spilling the beans about a scene to his friend from college."
"But...well, ok, but..."
"Warrick had his gambling. Grissom has his territorial posturing every now and then with Ecklie. Which is bound to get interesting now that Ecklie's the new assistant director."
A little humor returned to his eyes and he smirked. "Yeah ain't that a bitch."
"A cold one," she surprised him by smiling. "And Sara we're just now learning of."
"Yeah, second strike. How is she anyway? Still out pending Grissom's report?"
"Yeah. Should be back by the end of the week. Minus the cough drops." Catherine confirmed, adding lightly, "So if you want to keep getting the cases you have been, you need to stay out of trouble."
The bitterness returned. "Meaning I need to let this go..."
"Hell no," Catherine retorted. Getting up, she offered him a hand. He took it and she used the leverage to pull him up. "Meaning you need to go to Grissom - or maybe Brass - and find out just what the hell's going on when the cops in this city start picking and choosing the victims." Realizing what she had just said, Catherine shook her head, holding up a hand to forestall any comment. "That came out wrong. I meant when the cops start picking and choosing the crimes they're willing to investigate."
Biting his lip thoughtfully, Greg asked, "You think it really could have been a car backfire?"
"Who knows?" Catherine gave him a brief hug. "But I wasn't there, Greg and neither were they. It's the cops duty to investigate the scene and ours to process the evidence," she told him, adding firmly, "They should have at least taken your statement and checked out the scene."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now go corner Grissom. And Greg?" He looked up and with a straight face she advised, "You might want to throw a lab coat over those clothes. May help to tone down the glare."
That got a laugh. "Gee thanks." But he *did* retrieve the light blue coat from the locker and pull it on.
Pulling open her own door, the mother waved away any thanks. "Free of charge. I kinda like my corneas the way they are."
"You're no fun. Catherine?"
"Yeah?"
"About the cops?" He looked back with that smile she adored so much. A bit shy, a bit of confidence and a touch of boyish good humor. "I knew what you meant."
* * * * *
"Ok gang, I know we're spread a bit thin tonight, so...." Grissom looked around the table at his team, handing out assignments. "Just hold on until Sara gets back, alright? Catherine, I want you on a burglary/homicide over on the Strip. Warrick, you and Greg. DB off of US93. Tourist."
Groaning, Warrick took the sheet, not even looking at the information printed there. "Let me guess - playing Ansel Adams and fell off the dam?"
Grissom only shrugged, lips pressed in a knowing grimace. "Maybe. You tell me. And let me know what you find. The Sheriff's all over this one."
"High profile. Great. You sure you want a trainee on this one?" Glancing at Greg, Warrick frowned. "No offense, Greggo, but..."
Grissom cut him off. "I'm sure. Cops are already on scene and the looky-loos have been pulled back. As far as high profile goes, this is as easy as it gets. Good one to start with."
Now Warrick looked at the file and saw what Grissom meant. "A lot of area to cover but remote. No tours have gone through since the one our DB was in?"
"Nope." Grissom hummed, satisfied. "Virgin territory."
"Ok you got it." Getting up with a stretch, he turned to Greg, patting him on the shoulder. "Meet you out in the lot in five. You get to bring the coffee."
Greg looked a little distracted, nodding. "Sure."
"What about me, boss?" Nick asked.
"You're with me."
"What's up?" Moving over to Grissom's desk, Nick leaned against the corner, arms crossed while the redhead left with a wave after Warrick.
"We're checking out Greg's attack from last night."
"What?" Nick straightened, shooting the startled trainee a glare. "You never told me about that. It wasn't in any of the reports..."
"Tyner refused to file one," Grissom told him, touch of anger in the mild tone. "Apparently he had better things to do. I for one would think getting shot at would be considered a crime."
There was tension in the lean body and Nick's dark eyes glittered to match. "Who shot at you?"
Greg shrugged. "Tyner said - thought it was a car backfire."
"Even so, if there was a shot fired, it would have left behind physical evidence. If not the bullet, then casings. Or GSR. Scuff marks. And the area around the mugging may tell us something."
Nick moved to tilt Greg's face up to the light, wincing at the vivid black eye. "I meant to ask you about that when I got here. You ok?"
"I'll be all right." Greg swallowed, assuring him. "You guys really going to investigate my case?
"You may not be one of theirs, Greg," Grissom told him firmly, "But you are one of ours. Of course we're investigating."
"Thanks."
Grissom shrugged but there was a grin on his lips. "You're welcome. Thank you for telling me."
"Thank Catherine, " Greg admitted and Grissom looked up.
"I will."
"I'd better head over to Trace and see what Hodges has on your clothes from last night. You *did* drop them off, right?" Nick demanded.
"Yes, mom, I dropped my clothes off at the laundry."
"Watch it," the Texan warned before slipping passed him and out the door, but not before tussling Greg's hair on the way.
When Nick was gone, Greg asked, hesitant, "Grissom. Are you sure you want me on....well - "
"Something this big?" Grissom favored the young man from over the rim of his glasses, assuring him, "I'm sure. You let me deal with the Sheriff."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Mmhmm." Finding the file he wanted, Grissom advised, "You'd better hurry up or Warrick will leave without you. Don't forget the coffee." He let out a short bark of laughter as Greg did just that. Sticking his head out the door, Gil called, "And change your shirt!"
* * * * *.
"Wait - wait! Say again? What!?" Ignoring the patrolmen looking at him in sudden alarm, Grissom shouted into his phone, beckoning Nick over. "Ok, Warrick - Warrick, calm down. Nick and I will be there in 20 minutes. Stay with him until we get there, you hear me? I don't want anyone but night shift in to see him."
Following Gil out of the Carriage House, Nick gave an automatic return nod to the senior patrolman, releasing them from the scene. "What's wrong?"
Grissom didn't say anything, rather climbed into the dark blue Tahoe and threw the SUV into reverse before Nick even had his belt on. The tight clench of his jaw spoke volumes, halting any sharp comment Nick might have made about the erratic driving. Whatever it as, Nick wasn't going to like it.
Reaching over to take the hand not holding the wheel, Nick gave his lover a squeeze. They weren't out at the lab, though privately both men assumed it was an open secret on the night shift. They knew Catherine knew, and Greg. The tech had caught them one night a couple weeks ago while bringing fingerprint analysis to Grissom's office. It had only been a kiss but ever since then Greg had never failed to knock. The others they weren't sure about since if they knew, no one was saying anything.
"Breathe, Gil. Whatever it is, we need to be in one piece to deal with it. And as an urban tank, the Tahoe's only so big."
That got a brief smile and return squeeze. Though he only backed down to 70.
"It's about Greg, isn't it?" Nick hazarded, sudden feeling of dread creeping up his spine. "He was going out with Warrick this morning, on a double at the Sands..."
"He never showed at the lab." Taking a wide curve, with another squeeze he let go of Nick's hand, needing both of his for the wheel. "Desert Palms checked his contact information and called the lab. When they couldn't get me, receptionist gave it to Warrick. There was an accident this morning on his way in. Greg's fine, in the ER. Shook up but looks like the worst of his injuries is a broken arm."
"So...he's ok?"
Gil looked over at Nick, noting the firm chin, eyes staring straight ahead out the window. "Hey," he reclaimed the hand, noting the teeth marks on Nick's bottom lip as his looked back. "He's going to be fine, Nicky. You'll see. We'll get there and he'll be griping about the quality of the hospital coffee and the fact that the nurses won't let him have any anyway."
A short laugh and Nick wiped his eyes. "We need to tell him, Gil."
Grissom sighed and returned his attention to the road, feeling an answering knot in his throat. Not as much traffic but rush hour was scheduled to begin any time now. "I know. We will, Nicky. We'll tell him how we feel about him. Just as soon as we can get him alone, I promise."
"The explosion and now this..." Nick shook his head, frowning. "We never did find any evidence at the scene after Greg was mugged. You don't think someone's after him?"
"Not the explosion - that was an accident. Catherine took full responsibility for that. But this...I don't know. I can't imagine who would be."
"You told Warrick not to let anyone in but night shift," Nick realized. "You don't think it's one of us?"
Hospital looming up ahead, Grissom didn't answer; only parked as close as they could. In worried silence, both men converged on the hapless staff of the ER.
* * * * *
Three weeks later, they were still no closer to finding out who may be after Greg. No closer to having that little 'talk' with the younger man, either. Between the investigations and field work, Greg was never alone for very long.
A part of Grissom had planned it that way - it was always harder to attack someone when the intended target was inside a group. But the rest was pure accident. Whenever he or Nick would manage to steer the conversation into a suitable segue, someone or something would come up and they were off again. Grissom to his office or a scene, and Greg to his lab or a different scene.
Lying in their bed in the back of Gil's townhouse poor Nick was in a state. Torn between laughter and helpless frustration. The two lovers had been talking about bringing Greg into their relationship for months now. Ever since the lab explosion had forced them to realize just how much the younger man had come to mean to both of them. The problem now was just how to do this without sending him screaming for the hills, never to look back.
But while being a dilemma on a purely personal level, until whoever was responsible for the attacks was caught and put behind bars, Greg's safety was more important. He and Nick could wait.
Greg's mugger had been very good; good enough to vanish into the woodwork and the findings from Greg's car were looking grim. The brake lines had been cut. Sara was sure of it. And still they were no closer to a suspect.
Who would have motive to go after Greg in such a way? Why would they want to? As far as anyone knew, Greg didn't have anyone holding a grudge against him in Vegas. Grissom said as much in confusion to Nick.
"Hell, Gil," Nick sighed. "We all have a reason to look guilty of holding a grudge against Greg. Appearance if not actual motive."
Lying on his side, Gil left off from nibbling behind one ear to rub, resting his cheek against that ear, arms resting in a tight circle around the younger man's torso. "Run that by me again?"
"He's great in the lab. With him where he belongs - where we're used to seeing him, depending on him - you don't have to deal with finding a replacement."
"I don't now - Greg found her weeks ago." Grissom pointed out, one shoulder shrugging. "She's ok."
"Yeah, but you can't tell me you're not waiting for her to screw up." Nick accused and Gil winced.
"Guilty," he admitted. "Greg's good. The best. I *do* keep waiting for something to come along she'll have to pass along to him to get it sorted out."
"You see?" Nick nodded. "Warrick and I even bet on the first one. What was her name?"
"No idea," Gil shrugged unrepentant. "She didn't last long enough to be more than a blur."
"Exactly. Chandra!" Nick frowned. "I think. Anyway...she didn't even last a shift. And I know that I'd rather trust my findings to Greg than some stranger. No matter how good they are."
"That's not Greg's fault."
"I'm not saying it is. But I'm not the only one that feels that way. I know Rick and Catherine feel the same way. Sara isn't saying but I've seen her casting glares at the new tech. Don't know her name either."
"So...what?" Gil sighed, resting his forehead against the back of Nick's neck, inhaling the fresh scent of soap and shampoo. Spooned behind his lover, he was about ready to drop. It had been a long month. "We're all a suspect?"
"By motive, yeah I guess. I've heard the lab guys giving him grief for months now," Nick echoed the sigh, feeling himself drifting off into sleep, holding onto the arms around him. "Ever since he told you it wasn't about the money. Hodges is just more vocal about it, that's all."
He felt Gil snort behind him, placing one last kiss against his skin before snuggling in for sleep himself. "Hodges is an ass. But an honest one."
"Yeah maybe."
"You, me, Catherine, Sara, Warrick - the techs... So if we're all guilty by motive, where does that leave us?"
Gil's only answer was a soft snore.
* * * * *
"Greg's certainly gotten accident prone since being out in the field," Archie snickered, shaking his head at the traitor in their midst. Not that he had anything against Greg, of course. But why would any sane tech want to be out in the field when everyone knew the big money was in lab work?
Hodges only looked up from his scope, watching Sanders as he turned the corner out of sight. "No. He hasn't. Your fiber? Not fiber," he countered, "More like a synthetic."
"Synthetic what?"
"How should I know? Why should I care?"
Archie snorted in annoyance. "Well what should I tell Catherine?"
"That you're the AV guy? Or how about I'm overloaded and don't have time for the lab's resident multiple personality case to figure out who he wants to be tonight." Hodges waved a hand in an impatient gesture. "Just take it to Sanders and let him do his job... Whichever one that is today."
* * * * *
"Jacqui, my love, give me some good news on my print." Grinning a wide smile, Greg leaned on her counter as best as he was able with one arm in a sling and batted his eyes at her.
The print tech snorted good naturedly and glared at him, unimpressed by his so called charms. "Only if you promise to stop trying to stir up a hurricane in here."
"Duly noted." He agreed easily enough. "So....any luck?"
"You lift this?" she asked, glancing from the print she was looking at and back at him.
"Well...if it's good, then yes I did. If not, it's all Nick's doing, " he grinned.
She smirked, tweaking, "In that case Nick does good work."
"Ah, Jaqs you're killing me here. I'm crushed."
"I couldn't crush you with a 747." Moving back she handed him the magnifying glass and let him take a look. "Though I've heard someone's tried."
Peering down at the print, Greg snorted. "That's the only thing they haven't tried. Good whorls, " he noted in satisfaction. "And what's this? A loop? Sweet."
"So it's true?" Pulling him around, Jacqui questioned, "Someone's really after you?"
Greg shrugged, a little uncomfortable talking about it. "Grissom seems to think so."
"Who would want to hurt you?" Jacqui scoffed. "No offense honey, but you're about as threatening as a three day old kitten."
"Ah but I am," he refuted. Head tilting and grinning he clarified, just for the record mind you, "A threat, not a three day old kitten."
"Well...ok, to Hodges maybe," the tech snickered. So she didn't like him. She figured it was hardly a secret. If the man spent as much energy in doing his job as he does trying to impress Grissom...
"I'm a strange breed, Jaq," Greg sighed, the former bright enthusiasm now tight and lacking genuine humor. She couldn't help but notice he had been more serious lately, wit more brittle than his usual soft good humor. He looked tired. "Between lab and field work - neither fish nor fowl. I'm an anomaly; most people around here don't know what to think of me anymore. Or want to think of me anymore."
Not knowing what to say to that, other than "huh", and deciding that telling him he was full of shit lacked a certain tact, the tech just shook her head, handing him her report..
"So... I walk the line. Thanks for the info, m'lady." he intoned mock-grave tone sober and at odds with his smile, bowing out of her lab.
"That's just great. You jerk!" Jacqui smacked him before he could make good his escape. "Now I'm going to have that Johnny Cash tune stuck in my head all day!"
* * * * *
"Greg!" Running up to the figure huddled outside the DNA lab, Sara, pulled him further away from the thick white smoke billowing out from the open doorway. "Somebody call an ambulance!" No explosions or broken glass this time, thank god.
"No. No I'm..." pulling away weakly, Greg coughed, "I'm ok...I'm ok..."
"You sure?" Sara turned back down the hall, only to catch a couple maintenance workers before they could douse the lab with fire extinguishers, thereby ruining any evidence they may have. "No. Don't. We don't know what's in there."
"Greg!"
Spotting the older man running down the hall, dodging gawkers and ignoring the smoke all together, he was able to give Grissom a weak wave. "You ok?" Grissom's eyes bore into his, giving him a once over.
He started to answer again that he was fine when the world tilted and he found himself being eased down the wall to sit on the floor. His one irreverent thought was that the older man must have some muscles under all those clothes. That and why was the lab spinning? "Here, sit. The paramedics are on their way."
Greg found he could only nod, looking miserably at what was - once again - the shambles of his DNA lab.
* * * * *
"Hey Grissom, you get anything off that trash can from Greg's desk?"
"No. Totally void of prints."
"You're kidding?" Nick sighed, leaning against the counter beside Gil, close enough to touch but not. When Nick had found out about the latest incident - some kind of smoke bomb set to react with chemical components dumped into Greg's trash can - the man had been furious; going so far as to ride with Greg in the ambulance to the hospital to make sure he checked ok, and that none of the fumes had been toxic. "Not even janitorial staff?"
"None," the older CSI confirmed, slapping his glasses down in frustration. Rubbing his eyes, Grissom told himself not to follow the frames with his head. He was already fighting off a migraine. "Wiped clean. Not even Greg's were on it."
"*Damn* it," Nick growled, frown pinching the squared features in a scowl. "You know what that means."
"Yeah," Grissom sighed, blue eyes once again firmly behind their glass lenses as he resumed his search. "Back to square one. And Greg's attacker is still out there."
"And now he's found a way to get at Greg inside CSI."
Suddenly Gil looked back up from processing the next batch of slides. "That's it." The scowl now replaced with an expression of shock. "I know who's after Greg."
* * * * *
