DISCLAIMER:
Song: "Pity the child", from Chess. All lyrics are property of Benny Andersson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus.
Greg Sanders is not mine, never has been and never will be… nor is Nick or any other of the characters. I don't make any money on them…
The bio of Greg Sanders is only loosely based on what is shown in the series. I haven't paid that much attention to him before to actually know all the details, so I make up a lot of stuff.
I haven't seen much of season 5, so in my head, Greg is the lab-rat.
Warning: Domestic Violence, language and slash.
I have no personal experience with abuse, what so ever (Thank God for that). I am writing out of my own imagination, using child abuse resource sites on internet as a source. I don't claim to understand. I don't mean to give any solutions. If you are a victim or close to a victim; I do not mean to offend you with any details that I might interpret wrong. As I said, I have no experience, so how someone will act and react in these situations are only assumptions from my side.
SONG FIC: Pity the child
The story of Greg Sanders.
CHAPTER 1: invisible
When I was 9 I learned survival
Thought myself not to care
I was my single good companion
Taking my comfort there
Up in my room I planned my conquest
On my own
Never asked for a helping hand
No one would understand
I never asked the pair who fought below
Just in case they said no
Greg's lab, Mother's day 2005
Greg Sanders is working on a tough case. He let his music blast through the speakers wrapping him into his own little world. He knows his co-workers wonder about the level and choice of music. The only thing louder than the music is his t-shirts. They tease him about that. Maybe they are right. He has never figured out for himself whether this is childish or not. Nevertheless, he feels comfortable being surrounded by the colors and the beat.
A hallmark is neatly tucked in a small paper bag in Greg's left lab coat pocket. He bought it today before work. He had spent nearly 30 minutes reading the cards, deciding which one to pick. He needs it to be just perfect.
He works DNA.
Small chains of genes; born with them, impossible to escape.
The Sanders home 1982
The room is lit up by only a dim light from a night lamp. The light doesn't reach the corners of his room and he can pretend there is an escape door in the far end. He doesn't want to look too close though; better pretend.
Maybe if he is totally quiet, they will forget about him.
Maybe if he doesn't move at all….He tries not to breath, but his body deceives him. He has to grasp for air now and then. Soon he learns how to breathe though his mouth, careful to not make a sound. He is careful not to sniff when the tears stream down his cheek. He doesn't try to dry them, it is better to be quiet than dry.
He doesn't dare turning off the last light, he is afraid of the dark. He needs to see if there is someone in here with him.
He can hear them yell. He can't always distinguish the words though, and it is mostly his father that yells. His mother screams and cries. His body trembles and jumps when he hears a loud pound followed by silence. For a long time it is quiet, too quiet. Then he hears his father roam around downstairs knocking over a stool and reaching the door. He sits still long after the front door is closed. Still no sound…five minutes, ten... He carefully crawls out from under his bed, walks towards his bedroom door and opens it. The hallway is fully lit. Everything is in order, like nothing has happened. He walks down the stairs, and into the kitchen. On the floor in front of the counter he sees his mom. She is bleeding, crying and raising to her feet when she sees her 9 year old son walking in.
"It's OK," she says wiping her face with the palm of her hand, only to smudge blood out on her cheek. "It's OK. I am fine; just fine. Come here; let me give you a hug."
Greg's lab, Mother's day 2005
He watches while the team head out to a crime scene. Domestic violence, as far as he understands. What looks like a wife slaughtering the husband. Ugly as hell; not unexpected though according to the neighbours. "There has always been trouble in that house."
The Sanders home 1982
His father will be out all night. They will go free the rest of the evening. He won't come back until late and then only to crawl into bed.
He sits down at the kitchen table with mom. She hands him a bowl of his favourite sugared cereal. He is not supposed to have this on a school day, but she lets him anyway.
"He doesn't mean anything by it," she tells him. "He is just tired. There is so much responsibility, you know?"
He looks at her, nodding.
"You, me…. we should be a little bit nicer to him; not aggravate him so much. When he comes home from work, he doesn't deserve having more stress."
He nods again. The cereal tastes good.
"Maybe you can make less noise, you know? Be quiet when your father tells you to. And I just need to have food ready when he comes home. And I should make it better. He works all day you know? He deserves good food."
Greg's lab, Mother's day 2005
"Run this for me, will you?" Nick hands him two bags of evidence from the scene.
"Sure thing; my magical fingers will work for you!" Greg throws him a big grin while practically jumping out of his chair.
"I need this ASAP," Sara enters the room. He looks at her, giving her a wink and relieves her of her bags. "Even faster than that…"
"But after mine, right?" Nick shoots in, slightly leaning over the table separating them.
"First come, first served, Nicky. I will not let you down. Now you two, get out of here, let this genius get to work!"
