Title: Days Go By
Author: Stormchilde – A.K.A. - Harper's Cat
Archive: Please ask, I'll say yes but I'd like to know where it will be.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, I don't make any money from this, I do it for my own twisted sense of fun.
Rating: G
Setting/Season: Season Three
Spoilers: Mentions of incidents in "Playing with Fire" and "Inside the Box".
Warnings: none unless you have a pre-existing heart condition and angst is bad for you.
Comments/Feedback: Please, feed the Cat!
Summary: Angst - It's not just nerves that's making Greg's hands shake.
A/N: Yes, yes, I know I should be finishing my 'drom story but the muse is stubborn and she's taken an interest in torturing Greg. What could I do?

Chapter 1 – A Distant Thunder

"Where the hell is Greg?" Warrick demanded.
Grissom raised an eyebrow at the investigator's angry tone. "In the lab?"
"No."
"He was there when I walked by a couple of minutes ago."
"Well he isn't now!"
"Have you paged him?"
"Twice." Warrick paced, "I need those results from the warehouse DB."
"Did you check the break room, maybe he's fixing some coffee."
"He's not there, or the bathroom or the locker room or out back smoking."
Grissom smiled, "Let's check the lab again, maybe he's avoiding your wrath."
They walked down to the DNA lab, checking along the way to see if Greg was loitering in one of the other labs.
"Greg?" Grissom called. The lab was unnaturally quiet. Normally Greg had one of his obnoxious CDs playing loudly while he danced around the lab, while somehow still managing to work on multiple cases.
"Dammit, Sanders! I need those results!" Warrick complained.
Grissom expected the young man to bound out waving the papers and making a scene but the lab tech didn't materialize. There were documents scattered haphazardly on the counter and the floor, an uncommon sight in Greg's normally meticulously organized domain. He gathered up the ones on the counter and bent to retrieve the ones on the floor. Shards of glass clinked on the tile as he picked up the pages.
"What was that? Warrick asked irritably, "Did he break something?"
Grissom stood and leaned over the counter, "Call an ambulance."
Warrick was dialing even as he moved quickly to the other side. "Careful Gris." Glass crunched under his feet. "I need EMS to the DNA lab." Warrick's phone was held between his shoulder and chin as he helped Grissom roll Greg onto his back.
"Greg? Can you hear me?" Grissom asked.
Greg didn't respond, his eyes were open, pupils pinpoint and not changing as they moved him.
"What the hell happened?" Warrick asked softly.
Greg's lips moved, speaking too softly for Grissom to hear and he couldn't read it either.
"What did he say?" Grissom demanded.
"He's hard to understand," Warrick looked puzzled, "it sounds like he's drunk."
"He's not drunk." Grissom brushed the hair back from Greg's eyes, noticing the drooping eyelids and the slack muscle response.
"I think he said 'you said it would stop'." Warrick carefully dusted shards of glass off the front of the tech's lab coat. He jerked back as Greg started to shake.
"Seizure!" Grissom shoved the chair back. "Help me get him to a clear spot."
It was difficult to hold onto Greg but they didn't want to leave him lying on the shards of glass or near the counter where he might hit his head.
The seizure ended shortly after they lay him near the doorway, the bandage on his neck was rapidly changing from white to scarlet.
"What the hell is going on?" Warrick asked.
"Something much more serious than I thought." Grissom replied. He leaned back, looking out the door at the people curiously following the paramedics. "In here." He directed them.