This older story was written in response to a challenge. It was my first attempt at grim, serious, and angsty. The characters they are not mine.

"Look alive, Greggo; we got a live one... well, a dead one I should say."

"What is it this time - a floater in the wastewater treatment ponds? " Greg was NOT in a good mood, not in any way, shape, or form. His perfect older brother Wills had just called to gloat about being named head of sales at a top pharmaceutical firm. As soon as they hung up his Dad called, predictably to lay upon him the many ways in which he had never and would never measure up to Wills. Wills was nine years older, athletic and confident, handsome and buff - everything Greg could never be. The fact that Greg's IQ was probably 30 points higher than Wills' apparently impressed no one, most especially their Dad. Greg had once again been reminded that he was the pale, nerdy one, the geek who spent prom night alone, the skinny, peculiar-looking one who seemed unable to attract the girls' attention. Charming Wills had married to his college sweetheart, the beautiful, sweet, and exceptionally gullible daughter of the firm's president. Greg felt sorry for her. She wasn't the sharpest girl he'd ever met, but she deserved better than the philandering snake she was married to. At any rate, thanks to his Dad Greg now felt even more like a loser than he had the day before - and that was saying something.

Greg glowered over at Nick. In many ways Nick Stokes reminded him of Wills, which was probably why they had so easily fallen into the big brother/ little brother roles that seemed to define their friendship. Most of the time Greg enjoyed it - it was like having a brother who actually liked and respected him - but today it felt a lot like having his nose rubbed in his shortcomings.

"Here we are." Nick pulled up to a nice condo complex and exited the vehicle. "Follow the nice policemen."

They took the elevator to the eighth floor and were escorted to an open door at the end of the hall. Nick went in ahead of him, and Greg followed down a narrow hall. A dark-haired male was sprawled facedown on a bed, and as Greg watched Dave and Nick carefully turned the body over.

Greg gasped. "Oh. Crap."

"What's wrong, Greg?" Dave glanced at his in concern. "You know this guy?"

"Yeah, um.. yeah. Rich Morton. We were roommates when I first came to Vegas. About six months afterward he, um, I caught him in bed with my girlfriend."

Nick looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Greg, man, you know the drill. That was seven, eight years ago, true, but you can't be on this case. They have to rule you out."

Greg sighed. The questions he was going to be answering would ensure that everyone at the lab would soon know WAY more about him than he wanted them to. What he didn't tell, Mandy would - after all, she and Rich were married, or at least had been at one time. "Okay. Make the calls."

"Okay, Sanders, stick with me here. We have to get the full story. Start at the beginning - where you and the victim met - and end the last time you parted company." Brass was being nice to him at least, which made things a little easier.

"Okay. I graduated from college in 1995."

Brass looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You were just twenty in '95"

"I started college 2 years early and graduated on time. Anyhow, I spent a few months in a hospital lab in New York City, realized it wasn't the town for me, and moved to San Francisco in January of 1996. I worked at the San Fancisco DNA lab for a bit, then got the job here in November of 1997. I was 22. Rich had advertised for a roommate in the paper. I answered the ad. The apartment was okay, the price was right, so we became roommates. We got along okay. Then I met Mandy."

Brass motioned for him to coninue, so Greg cleared his throat and did so. "I met Mandy at a local coffee shop in January of 1998. We started dating and it, it got pretty heavy. For me at least. I hadn't, hadn't had a lot of luck with relationships up til then, and she was so sweet and special. I fell for her pretty hard."

"She was your first." Brass's voice held no ridicule, just understanding.

Greg nodded and continued. "For abot six months we were, you know, hot and heavy, all the time, mostly at her place, but from time to time at mine. She knew Rich, and they kidded with each other. I never thought anything of it until I, um, I came home from work one morning and caught them..."

Greg put his hands over his face and paused. "They were in MY bed." He felt Brass's hand on his shoulder and continued. "I just left. I drove around for a while, then started looking for apartments. Found one that day, put down a deposit, and packed out the next day. Rich didn't have much to say. He knew why. Anyhow, that was that. I called Mandy once after that to ask her why she'd done it. I loved her, once thought I'd marry her."

"What did she say?"

Greg looked at him with red cheeks and bloodshot eyes. "Do I have to answer that?"

"It'd be in your best interests if you want to stay a CSI."

"She, uh, told me about my various sexual inadequacies. About a year later she called me at work to tell me she and Rich had gotten married. That was the last I heard of either of them. That was around May of 1999."

Brass sighed. "Look, Sanders, I'm going to be honest with you. If this guy had died in '98 or '99 you'd be a prime suspect. But it was six years ago, and from what Robbins says the guy died while you were here in the lab working on a case, HOWEVER I'm guessing Grissom will be putting you on leave until we get you fully ruled out. That doesn't mean any of us think you're a killer. You gave DNA and got processed already, Nick is doing your car as we speak, so hopefully this will be over before you know it."

Grissom met him on his way to the showers. "Greg. Need to talk to you."

Greg spread his hands out. "I know. On leave."

"Just 'til we get this cleared up. You don't have a gun."

"No. Lord no."

Grissom gave him a strange half-smile. "Get Sara to give you a lift home - Nick's still working on your car."

Greg sauntered to the locker room and collapsed onto a bench. "I thought I was WAY past this," he muttered to himself, then put his hands over his face. His shoulders heaved and shook with sobs he could no longer hold back, tears for his long ago broken heart, for his many failings, for the pride he knew his family would never have in him, of humiliation for what he had held most secret but was even now fast becoming common knowledge.

He didn't hear Sara enter the locker room, didn't know she was there until she'd sat down and wrapped him in a hug. "It's going to be okay, Greg. It's okay. None of us think you killed that guy. You're the gentlest man I know. I know you're not a killer."

Greg shook his head. "You know a lot more than that, now don't you?"

"Yeah. I know you got your heart broken but were strong enough to come back from it. Greg, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You just made a bad choice in friends and girlfriends. That's all. That's what everyone going over this case will realize. Most of us have been there at one point or another. You know what happened to me with Hank. It wasn't the first time."

He was feeling a little better at this point. Sara smiled brightly and kissed him on the cheek. "Now, see, things are never as bad as they seem. By the way, I can't really be telling you this so you don't know it yet, but Doc Robbins is fairly sure Morton died from a cerebral aneurism, possibly from all the cocaine he's been sucking up his nose. I'm guessing you'll be back again tonight if not sooner." She stood and placed one hand on Greg's shoulder. "I have to go. And you don't know anything."

Greg sniffed and smiled. "Thanks, Sara." His cell phone began to ring.

"Answer that." Sara slipped out of the locker room.

"Sanders."

"Greg? This is Brass. I need to see you in my office."

"Yes, sir." Greg flipped the phone closed. It seemed his personal ordeal was nearing its end.

Greg tapped lightly on Brass's open office door and stepped in. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I needed to ask you about something. Please, sit down." Greg obeyed, and Brass just looked at him for a few moments. "I didn't know you had any kids," he finally said.

Greg's eyebrows went up. "I don't."

Brass sighed in exasperation. "Then whywas there a baby complete with car seat sitting on your doorstep with a note pinned to his blanky saying "Mr. Sanders : Happy Belated Father's Day?"

Greg shook his head. "This has got to be a joke. I don't have a baby."

"Well, if the child is not yours, why was it on your doorstep?"

Greg again shook his head. "I don't know, but I am absolutely 100 sure the baby is not mine."

Brass sat back and glared at Greg. "Son, how can you possibly say that?"

Greg leaned forward. "You said it was a baby. May I assume that means it's under a year old?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I saw him out there; I'd say he's about six weeks old, give or take a couple weeks."

Greg was angry enough at this point his voice was getting loud. "I haven't had sex in three and a half years. How the HELL could the baby be mine?"

Brass started laughing. "Well, I'll be damned. You're twenty-nine, and you're getting laid less than I am. I thought you were the lab wild man."

Greg sighed and looked at the desk. "You already have my DNA. Run it against his."

Brass spread his hands. "Already being done."

"Then may I please go home?"

Brass nodded as Greg stalked out of the office. He really did feel kind of sorry for the kid.

Greg threw his jacket over the back of the sofa and stalked over to the fridge. The message light on his machine was blinking. The way the day was going it was probably the IRS informing him he was being audited. He put the milk carton to his mouth and took a swig. It just wasn't fair. Nick and Warrick had women swarming them like flies, but they were both determined to avoid even the slightest bit of committment. All HE really wanted was one good woman - one particular woman, in fact - and he'd be more than happy to be all hers. Three and a half years since even a one-night stand - and that had been truly awful. He hadn't been in a relationship for a lot longer than that - not for want of trying. He just never seemed to get past the first date.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Sanders? Okay; be there in twenty." He threw on his jacket and headed for the door. Maybe his trials were finally coming to an end. The DNA should be finishing up soon (it would already have been done if he had done the test, but Mia wasn't him), and surely Robbins should be done with the autopsy soon. Then again, maybe they felt they had evidence he was Osama Bin Laden. He was almost afraid to feel optimistic.

Once again he knocked on Brass's door. "Greg, hey, come in. Look, first I want to tell you all's clear on the Morton homicide. He died while you were on shift from natural causes, so you were cleared from two different directions."

"DNA back on the baby?"

"Yeah. You aren't the daddy - but it looks like you are related somehow. Do you have a brother?"

"Um, yeah. Two of them in fact. Robert is going to UCLA; Wills lives here in Vegas."

"We're going to need his address. We ran the baby's footprints against hospital records, and we have a name and address for the mother, but it seems she's left town. That makes your brother the child's legal guardian."

Greg's mouth opened and closed. "He's... he's married."

"I don't care if he's Willie Wonka. We need to get him down here and get him tested so this child can be dealt with."

Greg grabbed a pen and a pad and scribbled a number. "There you go."

"Thanks." Brass passed the number to a second officer, who left the room. "Now I need to ask you a few questions about your brother."

"Why?" Greg's cell phone again began to ring. "Sanders," he hissed. "Uh, Dad. Hi. What's... Uh-huh. Oh no. No! Yes, I'll... bye."

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. I can't ever remember being this far from okay in my life." He stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I have to go."

"Hey, wait wait wait! We need to talk about you brother."

Greg spun around and glared at him. "You don't get it, do you? My little brother Robert was just killed in a car accident. I have to go!" With that, he ran out of the office and headed down the hall, almost running down Catherine in the process.

"Whoah!" She grabbed him by his jacket, effectively forcing him to stop. "What's wrong?"

"Everything, Catherine. Absolutely everything. My little brother just died in a car crash and Brass expects me to stay here and tell him my older brother's damned life history - like I would know; the guy hates me. I have to go, Catherine. I have to go!"

"Call me," Catherine said, still hanging onto him. "And call Sara! Call her now."

When she released him Greg just shook his head and staggered toward the door.