A/N: So, this story is in the "Secrets of a Past Life" universe, but it's not necessary to have read that one to read this one. The only things you need to know are that Adam Ross and Greg Sanders are friends from college, and that Greg has twins who spent a good portion of their lives being raised by Adam due to Greg not knowing of their existence per the twins' mother's preference. Oh, and the twins live in Vegas with Greg.
Okay, so I don't own CSI, CSI:NY, CBS, Guitar Hero, or any other known entity. I do, however, enjoy them. :) This is a post-ep for 5.15 ("The Party's Over"), about Adam's night after he left. I hope you all enjoy the story, and please review.
A Slice and Guitar Hero
Red, green, green, red, yellow, green, blue…
The colors flew by as Adam tried to keep up. It was in the instance that he missed the orange note for the seventh time in that song that he realized he had been wrong. When he was talking to Stella on the street outside work as he was leaving, he had been wrong.
This was more than a slice and Guitar Hero could fix.
His mind failed to register the notes as he played the game, picking random songs to play. There wasn't any music that he particularly wanted to hear. He went with the motions, trying to keep himself focused on the game but finding himself unable to do so.
After failing his fifth song of the evening, he decided to quite while he was behind and walked away. He lay down on his couch, flipping through the channels until he found something he could get himself lost in. But even that didn't do well to keep his thoughts at bay. And as the peppy theme song of the show began, he found himself thinking not of the show and the plights of the characters. He was thinking about music.
He hadn't been lying when he told the kid there was some good music on there. A lot of the bands he liked, some of their best songs… he would get another iPod, put music back on there, it'd be fine.
For him, anyway.
The problem was that music had always been the way he escaped. It had been what had gotten him through tough moments at school. Through the even tougher nights at home. Through moments of lab gossip and politics that he didn't want to hear. Through the nightmares, the horrors of the job. Through the moments of panic when he thought another one of his friends might not be coming home.
Music was his saving grace. And he knew that in time, it would be once again. Bur for now, all music did was remind him of the poor boy who murdered his father. Adam more than just felt for the kid.
In his mind, he was that kid.
There were more times than he could count that Adam had wanted to kill his father. More times that he wished everything was over. If his father could only understand… if he was more sympathetic… if he wasn't such a bastard… if only things had been different. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, the only reason Adam was the way he was now was because of what that bastard put him through.
He was stronger for that. He was better for that.
Adam also knew a thing or two about the OCD the kid was afflicted with. Adam himself battled with it day in and day out, if only a mild form. He wasn't ripping his eyelashes out, but he had to always do things in certain ways. He had to spend exactly 30 seconds rubbing soap over his hands before they were clean, and he had to wash his hands every 2 hours. He even had to count down the minutes in his head. He always had to put on his gloves a certain way. These were tics that no one seemed to notice, but they were a part of him. And if they didn't happen, it drove him insane because then he was contaminated.
He knew it wasn't rational. He knew it was all in his head. But he couldn't make it stop.
Despite that, he functioned well, and as far as he knew, it had been news to Stella and Mac that he could even be afflicted with the disease. For that, he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was be explaining himself to everyone.
He got up off the couch, deciding that a beer would really go good with his mindset. He was about to reach into the fridge when his cell phone rang. Sighing, he snatched it up, looking at the caller ID.
Greg.
He flipped the phone open, putting it to his ear as he opened the fridge again. "Adam Ross," he answered.
"Hey, Adam," Greg replied. "How's it going?"
"I've been better. How're you?"
"I'm good. What's going on?"
"Just… entered into a situation I'm not used to."
"With the deputy mayor's death?"
"Yeah, but there's more too."
"How so?"
"Well, I'm not a CSI. I'm not used to interrogating people, being in the field. How do you get past finding out a kid did it because they felt they had no other choice? Especially when you identify so much with the kid?"
"It's not easy," Greg agreed. Adam heard Greg shuffling papers in the background.
"But how do you do it?" Adam asked, taking a drink from his beer.
"You learn to get past it."
"How?"
"It's not easy," Greg admitted. "But… you learn from the first time. Each experience teaches you more about compartmentalizing and taking care of yourself. You learn what you need to do to get yourself through it. You learn your crutches."
"You ever had this happen?" Adam asked.
"Not that I know of off the top of my head. I've identified with victims, mostly, which isn't any easier. But, knowing you, I'd assume this kid wasn't just a killer, but a victim. Asshole father, dead mother?"
"You're mostly right. You forgot the OCD part." Adam took another drink.
"Yeah, that's why I get paid the medium bucks. You identify with the kid, the killer. Maybe he did what you've always wanted to do. But it's tough to see what happened. What someone like you could've done. You feel for the kid, and he's going to jail. And it's tough to deal with. So, rather than me give you a lecture, why don't you talk for a while?"
"I don't really want to talk."
"Then why'd you answer the phone?"
"Because you called. I figured it'd be important."
"I just wanted to check in with you."
"Why? Why tonight?"
"Because I have a slow night of paperwork ahead of me in my office, and I wanted someone to talk to while I did my filing."
"Oh, nice. So, I'm on speakerphone?"
"Yep."
"Thanks for the warning, asshole."
"Hey, who's that?" Adam heard a female voice ask in the background.
"My friend, Adam," Greg replied. "Adam, meet Riley."
"Hey Riley," Adam said.
"Hey!" she replied. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have this file for your cabinet and these papers for your other cases." Adam heard said stuff hit Greg's desk, and Greg sighed.
"Great," Greg replied dismally.
"Have fun. Take it easy, Adam."
"You too, Riley," he replied, hearing her walk out. "New girl?" Adam asked after she left.
"Relatively new," Greg replied. "Came in after Warrick died."
"Grissom left too, didn't he?"
"Yeah. That's how I now have an office. Nick didn't want to take it alone, so he split it between himself, me, and Riley. Ray has an office down by the morgue."
"Interesting."
"Yeah. So, back to you and your night."
"Nice segue," Adam joked, taking a drink.
"I try hard. So, talk," Greg pressed, as he continued to work.
"Why should I? You're not really paying attention."
"I am too. I'm keeping my hands busy as I talk to you. It's easy filing. Now, talk."
"I don't want to distract you."
"You're avoiding again."
Adam sighed, taking a drink. "I don't know, Greg. I'm like you. I like trying to get into the field and do things and see the fruits of the labor I do. But… every time I get into the field, I see something I don't want to see. Or I get into trouble. And I think about how I never want to go into the field again, but then I get that itch."
"It's tough."
"I thought after the warehouse incident, I'd never be allowed back into the field. Every time I go out, I expect Mac to tell me that I screwed up and I should never go back out into the field."
"Mac wouldn't say that."
"I don't know about that. He's all for protecting the lab and making sure things are okay with the lab. If I'm disgracing the lab every time I go out…"
"Adam, how many times have you been in the field?" Greg asked gently. Adam was pretty sure that Greg had stopped working at this point.
"I don't know," Adam replied. He took a drink while he considered it. "A few?"
"And how many times has Mac told you that you did something wrong?"
"None."
"How many times has he chastised you?"
"None."
"Alright then. If he hasn't yet, you haven't done anything wrong. Mac is a very by-the-book kind of guy. If he thought you were doing something wrong, he'd tell you. He calls people out on their mistakes all the time. If he felt you'd done wrong, he would've said something. So I wouldn't worry about what he thinks, because if he hasn't told you it was bad, then it wasn't bad."
"Did you feel that way your first time in the field?"
"I actually had done something, though. My error could've been the reason that guy didn't make it."
"I don't know about that."
"No one does. But I understand what you mean. Until you hear someone say you're okay, you're not okay. But what you need to remember is that you did nothing wrong. You belong in the field if you want to be there. If you don't, that's your call too."
"I thought you said you weren't going to lecture me," Adam said finally, taking a drink again.
"Well, every once in a while, you need to be lectured back into place," Greg replied gently.
"Enough about me. How're the kids?"
"They're good. They miss you."
"I miss them too. I'll have to come back out there sometime soon."
"Definitely."
Adam sighed, knowing that if he left the conversation too long, Greg would start trying to get him to talk more. "Listen, Greg, I'm kinda wiped from today," he said. "I'm gonna go to bed."
"Alright, Adam," Greg replied. "Take it easy, get some rest. It'll be better tomorrow."
"Yeah, I know. Have fun at work."
"I will."
"Talk to you soon."
"Bye." They hung up, and Adam finished off his drink. Deciding he had talked enough to reconcile himself, he turned the Playstation back on. Picking up the controller, he settled himself on his original night's mission of comfort- Guitar Hero.
He hadn't been entirely right about tonight, but he had been close. It was something that a conversation with Greg, a slice, and some Guitar Hero could fix.
The end.