Greg bent down to photograph a small stone with a bit of blood on one corner. Seeing nothing else close by, he stood up carefully and looked around. Their scene was a pretty standard head-on collision, but the two vehicles had been heavy and the debris field extended over half the street. He and Nick would be here all night documenting everything.
Shielding his eyes from the glare of a streetlamp, he took another glance around the neighbourhood. Since the beating, he'd been somewhat apprehensive about these kinds of places — hotbeds of anger mostly aimed at him, and people with too much time on their hands. The officers who'd first responded were guarding a perimeter cordoned off with police tape, and curious crowds had already formed and were nearly hustling the officers to see better.
Greg frowned and glanced over at the bodies being loaded into the coroner's van. The boy and girl had been young, black and evidently, popular around the neighbourhood, but something was agitating the crowd far more than normal. Greg's shoulders hunched involuntarily as the angry muttering grew, though he couldn't figure out the source of their discomfort. Bracing himself and straightening resolutely, he took assessment of the crowd. They were mostly in their late 20s, a typical cross-section of a dangerous suburb.
He stared at their SUV. Nick was checking the tyre marks in the computer at the back of the car. Officers were standing at the barricade, holding people back. Greg looked around him at the multiple types of evidence still to be tagged and realized he would need to go back to the car for more evidence bags. Sighing, he began walking towards Nick and the increasingly agitated crowd. Nodding to Nick, he gathered extra bags and tucked them into his vest, then turned back to his original spot.
"How you holding up?" Nick's voice stopped him short. Greg glanced over his shoulder at the crowd, then shrugged.
"It's been over a year," he said by way of answer.
"Doesn't make it easier," Nick replied with a raised eyebrow. He jerked his head towards his feet as if to prove his point.
Greg looked down and saw a small beetle inching towards Nick's boot. He stared at it for a few moments before quickly stepping on it. He really didn't need to be reminded of how much braver Nick was than him, though he knew it wasn't at all what Nick had meant. Some things just took more time. He looked up and gave Nick a tight smile, then moved off to get back to work.
A shout from behind brought his head up sharply from contemplating blood drops and he looked around in alarm. The shout had come from an officer; someone had broken through the barrier. The crowd had evidently taken it as a cue to begin pushing with more ferocity, and as the intruder was unarmed they could do little more than shout at him to stop. The officers were unable to come to the CSIs' aid for fear of letting the crowd get completely out of hand. The man headed straight for Greg, who was standing next to the wrecked cars and a pool of blood identifying where the female victim had died.
"Get away from here!" he yelled, standing up quickly to block the approaching man's way. A terrible sense of déjà vu flashed through his mind as he looked around desperately for backup. Nick had heard the commotion and was close, though for some reason he was hanging back. Their eyes met and Nick nodded, hand hovering over his sidearm. He'd have Greg's back, if it came to that.
The man was planted right in Greg's face and clearly not listening.
"What the fuck are you doing here, killer?"
"This is a crime scene, sir, you have to go away," tried Greg again, though by the man's body language he could tell it wouldn't do any good. He was a good foot taller than Greg and worked up.
Greg jerked in surprise as the man shoved him back, hard, against the car. Who was he talking about? Both parties had died in the accident, so who was the killer? Greg didn't have time to ponder the question because the man had already come in for another hit, a dizzying punch straight to the face. Greg swung clumsily to the side and shoved another punch aside with his forearm. This was starting to get ridiculous. How long would he have to deal with this kind of crap? Would he have to look over his shoulder at every crime scene? Greg squared up the angry man in his face.
"Let me do my job, sir. You're contaminating the scene," called Greg in a clear voice. The sight of all the blood must have agitated the man further, because he took another step forward, despite the warning tone in Greg's voice. So this is how he wanted it to be, thought Greg. He deflected another blow to his face, but wasn't able to stop the man from shoving him into the car again. The back of his head hit the doorframe.
Greg frowned and pushed back forcefully. The man stepped back, and something snapped inside Greg. He'd finally had enough. It was bad enough this kind of stuff tormented him in his sleep, but he wasn't going to let himself be pushed around by a thug in this neighbourhood, let alone embarrassed in front of his colleagues.
Greg snarled and grabbed a flailing arm as his foot struck out at the offender. Training kicking in, he quickly spun the man around and pushed his knee down forcefully on his spine, twisting the arm behind his back. Greg kept up the pressure and looked up to Nick, who nodded grimly and came closer, extending a pair of handcuffs. Greg took them gingerly and cuffed the man's hands, holding tightly as he struggled. He checked around Nick to see that the crowd had been forced further away and quieted down somewhat. Nick's eyes were questioning, but Greg just nodded shortly and allowed the officer that had finally arrived to take the now compliant man away.
Straightening out of his crouch, Greg smoothed his vest and took a deep breath, noticing that his hands were shaking again. He'd be okay, though. He would be, now. Greg bent down to pick up his camera and slowly turned to finish collecting evidence.
"You okay?" asked Nick softly.
"I'm fine." Greg paused. "Who was that guy?"
Nick shook his head. "Not sure. Must be tweaked on something."
"Why didn't you..."
Nick looked at him carefully, face impassive. "Didn't look like you needed the help."
Greg frowned, slowly understanding what Nick had done, though unsure how he felt about it.
"Let's get back to work," he grunted.
"You should get your head checked out. You could have a concussion," commented Nick.
Greg bent down to photograph another small rock. "I'm fine," he said dismissively. After giving Brass a thorough report on the attempted attack, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. It wasn't until his shift was over that he had time to process what had happened.
He was more than a little surprised at his smooth moves, truthfully. It wouldn't have been him a few years ago, that was for sure. Maybe he'd been hanging around cops too much, but he wasn't sure how this new Greg fit in with his old values. Certainly working as a CSI all this time had readjusted his moral compass. What once he'd been sure of had now turned a murky shade of gray. He sat across from his open locker, elbows braced on his knees and staring at his clasped hands. They'd stopped shaking, thankfully, before anyone noticed.
"You okay?"
Greg looked up to see Nick leaning against a row of lockers by the door. He nodded and gave a terse smile in response.
"Been better, but yeah."
Nick rummaged through his locker, cocking his head after a moment and shooting Greg a smile.
"Good job out there."
Greg glanced up, but Nick didn't elaborate. He nodded at Greg firmly and shut his locker, leaving the room with his jacket slung over one shoulder. Greg followed his retreating figure, clenching and unclenching his hands several times. He smiled finally and stood up to close his own locker. Just another day...