Title: Repercussions
Rating: T (for some dark themes)
Disclaimer: CSI isn't mine… I'm poor… I live in a cardboard box…
Summary: Even now there were still repercussions, even if the majority were in his head. Post episode for Monsters in the Box and Fannysmackin'
Notes: I wrote this primarily for a Slash piece… But I realised that really, it could be Sandle too… So with a few edits… Voila! Sandle piece that I hope you'll all enjoy. Could perhaps be a ½ not sure yet…
He'd been sold out, thrown to the dogs, pushed under a train… And any other metaphor that would describe how he'd just been betrayed so violently that it was nearly unbearable. Right there, only a few feet away, was the Sheriff, the James family and an oversized novelty cheque. They all grinned for the cameras- declaring this 'a moment in history, for every family that has ever suffered at the clutches of the police'- revelling in the new-found wealth. But no one stopped to notice that Greg Sanders was simply vanishing into the background.
He never thought there could be a price put upon life; no more than a stay at Death Row. But now, the rules of what was right and wrong had suddenly been flipped. So now there was a sum of money that could be put upon life… $2.5 million. Somehow that covered the loss of a son, a brother, a friend, a potential father and a real life. Somehow all those zeros just made the pain vanish and the death bearable for everyone involved.
The James family were free from all the repercussions of that night… Whereas Greg was still left to feel them all.
It didn't make it any better for the CSI, did it? He now looked guilty in the eyes of millions because the state didn't have the faith that he'd pull through. That money didn't erase the fact that he'd killed someone that night. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat and he was always looking over his shoulder… To be honest, he was bordering on traumatised. But he'd never get a cheque for that; would he?
He spent nights awake, thrashing about in a fitful slumber as memories, sounds, feelings of that moment rained down upon him. He could hear the screech of the Denali's tires, the thud of Demetrius against the bonnet, the shattering of the glass and the fists and the feet marking his skin, making sure he'd always remember that night. Sure, Sara tried with all her heart to help settle Greg- help him sleep- just no matter what she did- it couldn't beat off the nightmares.
People close kept reminding him that he was a hero- he'd saved Stanley Tanner. Sara especially, she'd always tell him he did what was right in everyone's eyes… But if it was right in everyone's eyes- how was he were he was now? He'd saved one life, at the same time he'd disposed of another- how was that at all heroic? Who could really judge whether he was right or wrong, who could say he was a hero? They couldn't know; he'd taken a life that wasn't his to take.
Greg wasn't a religious man; he'd never believed in a Heaven or a Hell because he just found that death wasn't something to be feared. He supposed it was because he worked with death all day, it didn't faze him anymore. But he'd always believed that lives weren't free for humans to take from one another; not that necessarily there was a higher power deciding when to take them; but because people couldn't have that much control over life… It led to corruption.
But yet he had taken a life, he had control over whether to kill someone or let them walk free, and he'd taken a life. He had managed to do the one thing he'd never wanted to do to anyone.
Greg couldn't look at anyone anymore without wondering what they were thinking about him; whether they thought he was a killer or whether they thought he was a hero. Greg didn't want to be either…
He just wanted to be Greg Sanders.
Greg Sanders, the Lab Rat turned CSI, the boyfriend of Sara Sidle, the Norwegian-come-Californian.
He didn't need any other names attached.
The vultures of the media were hovering about- watching the scene unfurl. They snapped shots of the winners; the day where the minority won over the powers. The day in which CSI Sanders really got what he deserved; the final nail sealed into his coffin. Now they just had to wait for his final burial and watch in glee as he finally disappeared- and left them to tarnish his name forever. No longer would the headlines be about the 'Murderous CSI, mows down local teen.' No, it'd be 'State Settles, Sanders gets Served.' More hate mail, more people loathing him, more people questioning why he did it.
Greg didn't know how he'd cope.
"CSI Sanders, how do you feel about the settlement?"
He jumped as a microphone crashed him back into reality, away from his thoughts. He hadn't even realised that the cameras were now focusing on him; that behind the flashes and the lenses, there was the general public waiting to be informed, waiting to be entertained. They were all watching, millions of prying eye, as if he were an exhibit in the zoo, and they were all poking him deliberately so he'd snap, maul one of them and then he'd be finally put down.
"No comment."
"What do you think of the amount that is being given to the family?" Another asked, shoving the microphone even closer to his face. He wondered if they thought if they shoved it close enough they'd be able to hear his thoughts. But he stopped himself, knowing that he could say so many things here; they were dancing on the tip of his tongue. 'Is that how much life is going for now? I better start saving.'
That fun, youthful, light-hearted Greg was long gone. That Greg had disappeared the moment his foot hit the accelerator. There was a new Greg; a serious, reserve, cynical Greg that really wasn't who he wanted to be.
"No comment."
They didn't know when to quit; when to know that a story just wasn't coming. They didn't realise that the state had force-fed him so many 'no comments' that he'd managed to start throwing them out without even thinking. Like now, he wasn't paying attention to the squawks coming from the press; he just knew not to feed them anything. They didn't realise that what CSI Sanders thought and said, were completely disconnected now. He kept himself to himself, no one was allowed in… That's probably why it was hard trying to live his life with Sara again, they were both different.
"Are you going to finish your work as a CSI now?"
"What?" That had somehow reconnected his mouth and his brain just in time to evoke a dim-witted response. He mentally kicked himself; where did all the no comments vanish to? But that didn't matter- what did matter was the fact that his mouth could say anything about anyone. He couldn't get caught up in something like this.
"Are you going to leave your position at the Las Vegas Crime Lab?"
He hadn't ever thought about that; he hadn't considered stopping his work. Greg hadn't had time to think about life after the settlement; he'd been too busy thinking about how he'd manage to pull through- how, if he had to, pay for the death of someone. But now, the State settled- did it mean he'd have to quit? Would Grissom hang him out to dry too?
"I haven't thought about it."
That was the honest truth; but somehow the cameras looked almost stunned at his reply. They were obviously expecting him to break down and inform them all of his resignation; or just utter 'no comment' again. He knew that there were going to be people behind those lenses yelling more death threats about him having to revoke his position; then there were possibly people calling him a hero again.
"There are a lot of people calling for your resignation."
He frowned at that thought; no one needed to tell him about that. He had plenty of letters that were pretty clear that he should just step down now; a brick through his window… But with the media announcing it too- there was little he could do to argue against it. Even though Sara kept trying to hide the mail, knowing that Greg didn't need to see the bad publicity- he always managed to see it. There was no trying to hide the truth; Sara cared enough to hide it… But Greg didn't want her to protect him. Protecting people was what led him to where he was now.
But then again, what was life going to be like if he wasn't a CSI? What would normal sleeping routines be like? What would happen once there was no Grissom, Sara, Warrick, Catherine or Nick? Well, more so Sara than anyone else. What would he do? Where would he go? Who would he be?
Yes, that concerned him most, who he'd end up being. He could no longer be Greg Sanders- Lab Rat turned Field Mouse. He couldn't be the CSI protégé; he couldn't be one of the most qualified DNA technicians in the country. He could go and be Greg Sanders, research analyst, and he could die of boredom too. Would he move? Get himself a new life and a new identity as Sir Gregory Teddington… Would that be satisfying enough?
Meanwhile his moments of uncertainty were being caught on camera as he considered the future. Well, at least now there was a brightside... He could make a film out of this in twenty years time. Would anyone want to see that film though? Would anyone believe the story that really mattered?
"CSI Sanders; will you resign?"
They were pressing him for an answer; they wanted him to crack underneath their watchful stares. They wanted good television and a break-down of a killer was certainly one way to get it.
Poke, poke CSI
Why was it now he had to be alone? There was no Tanner to reassure everyone of his heroics, there was no Brass to take the brunt and flick the cameras away as if they were pesky flies, there was no crime scene tape to keep them away. He didn't have Sara as a safety net to catch him when he fell- and he knew that somehow he'd end up getting hurt in this.
"I-I-I…" Now everything was malfunctioning on him; he was feeling woozy and just wanted to get away from all the prying eyes. His brain and mouth were no longer working in tandem- instead they were making him look like a mockery on national television.
He didn't really mind though; because after all he already looked a mockery. A big, tough CSI was afraid to leave his home without someone there. He was terrified of the simplest of things now; he couldn't go down alleyways. Sara assured him that it was natural, part of the healing process. But how could he be healing whilst the wounds kept being reopened? How would she even know about these wounds? Everyone's wounds were different, deeper, made by different blades… It just wouldn't go away; no matter what he tried to do.
Greg knew things really couldn't get much worse- officially his life was not really worth living anymore. Everything was just getting too much for him to be able to walk around with; it was weighing him down. Lead in his system he'd joke; but that's how it felt. Someone could push him in a river and watch him sink and drown. At least that way he'd be put out of his misery.
People didn't see what that night was about; they didn't see a mob of teenagers beating one guy to a pulp, they didn't see the one that refused to go and wanted to finish Tanner off; they didn't see that he ran at Greg; they didn't see that very same CSI pulled from his car nor beaten within a inch of his life. They just saw the family of Demetrius James weeping about their loss and how a CSI had done it. People were blind… People were stupid… People could be manipulated.
Things really were backwards.
"You see this money CSI? It's justice for the boy you killed. You were guilty all along; never excusable. This money is proof our boy was innocent!" Demetrius James's mother yelled smugly down towards him; and he gulped. He knew he shouldn't have come here; and right now he wished that the ground would come and swallow him whole. He came here to do what was right.
Oh yeah, right was wrong. Greg Sanders was a criminal, a murderer, a serious person… He was getting rained on with everything he did.
But he knew that the ground wasn't going to open and take him away, maybe even take him to hell. No, instead he was left watching as the family savoured their new found wealth. Greg really knew that there, in that cheque, was everything he'd ever believed as right being given away. He didn't know what to think about anymore, he didn't know how to react. People were telling him the ways he should react- that nightmares were normal- that to feel sometimes hopeless was fine- but he wasn't feeling that anymore. He was just numb as the repercussions just kept attacking him…
But most of all, right now he just wanted to run away; because somehow there was a price to a life. And that showed just truly how dark humanity had become.