Title: Ring of Fire
Disclaimer: Anything belonging to CBS has not been harmed in the making of this fic.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: References to the ep Play with Fire and Who Shot Sherlock. Nick's joke is from a scene in CSI:NY, so props to that show. I'm sorry for the pain I'll be causing Greg….I can only imagine how broken bones feel. Expected ending, I would think. AU unless CBS has this planned sometime in this coming season…in response to a challenge.
1. Just coming off of his final proficiency, he's high in spirits.
Everyone is happy about it, especially Sara.
2. one day Greg helps Mia while she takes a coffee break, while
she's in the breakroom talking with the other CSIs, there's another
explosion in the DNA lab.
3. Once hearing the explosion everyone bolted to the DNA Lab to see
Greg on the ground in worse shape then he was in the first explosion
(ep-Play with Fire) you determine how bad you make him.
4. After being in the hospital for a few weeks, with help from Sara
he soon returns to work.
5. over time he starts to lag at work, and decides to tell them he
cant take his job anymore and that he's going back to live with his
family.(where they live is up to you)
6. All of the CSIs try there turns to get him to stay. Whether he
stays or not I'll make that up to you
7. Greg/Sara
8. any rating
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Walking dejectedly past the interrogation rooms and the crime lab, the slumped figure looked up as one of his friends spoke.
"Hey Greg, Grissom wants to see you." Nick Stokes closed his case file as he glanced over at the lab tech.
"Right now, in his office," Warrick Brown pointed in the direction of their boss' room.
Turning around and heaving a sigh, Greg backtracked down the hallway. Entering the room, he saw that Grissom was sitting in behind the desk facing out the window. "Grissom? You wanted to see me?"
All of a sudden, the chair turned around to reveal a ballistic-gel man holding a sign exclaiming, "You passed!" Laugher and cheers erupted from behind the young man, and he was instantly surrounded.
Sara Sidle automatically gave him a hug, which surprised him, as the brunette normally wasn't social. The red-head in the group gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Well done!" Catherine Willows said as she gave him a hug.
In the next instant, the head of the department walked into the room. "Congratulations, Sanders, good work."
"Thank you." Greg nodded his appreciation to Conrad Ecklie.
"Okay, gang, there're people to put in jail. Let's get back it, shall we?" Seeing everyone was reluctant to move, Ecklie grew serious. "Come on, come on, party's over. Let's go."
The CSIs exchanged looks of disbelief but said their last congrats and left.
Once the room was empty save for him and Grissom, Greg voiced his thoughts. "I don't get it. I got the wrong guy, wrong manner of death."
"I don't expect you to be correct in all of your interpretations all the time." Grissom replied. "You collected the evidence, you thought there was something missing and went back and found it. Hey, that's the job." He paused and nodded. "Congratulations, Greg."
Greg grinned. "Thank you." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Catherine holding a bottle of champagne and Sara holding several full glasses, with the rest of the team waiting behind them. Cath raised the bottle, beckoning him over.
Shrugging his shoulders, he went over and took a glass from Sara's outstretched hand. Toasting to his future as a CSI, his face alighted in sheer happiness.
Grissom smiled.
---------
Thinking back on it, Greg thought it was one of the best moments of his life. Granted, he was still the team's resident lab rat, but now he was actually part of the Las Vegas' best.
Of course, the lab was still his home away from home.
"Are you sure you want to help me, Greg? I mean, I only need a coffee break and it'll only take me five minutes." The new lab tech Mia asked as she wrung her hands nervously. "I mean, you did become a CSI so you wouldn't have to do this kind of work again."
Greg smiled. Mia was one of the nicest people he knew, and this was surely just a small favor to repay all the times she did his work in record time. "No biggie." He shrugged.
Mia grinned in relief. "Thank you!" She rushed off to the break room.
The messy-haired CSI shook his head and snapped on a pair of goggles. Donning a pair of powder-less latex gloves, he turned toward the fume hood.
---------
"-walking in a sushi bar where the food is served on nude women. The lady detective says, 'Oh, that can't be sanitary.' and the guy detective says, 'Who cares, I want to see the menu!'"
Mia, Warrick, and Catherine burst into laughter at Nick's joke when suddenly, the floor shook and there was a deafening roar.
"What the-" Catherine shot out of her seat and looked through the break room door. In shock, she saw a bright ring of fire from inside the lab and a ball of the engulfing flames shoot through the shattered windows, bringing a familiar figure with it. Her heart sank into bottomless despair as her mind screamed at her to help.
---------
One second, he was reaching for a cylindrical object in the hood; in the next instant he was smothered in unbearable, scorching heat.
It was a repeat of three years ago: a consuming fireball coming at him towards the chest, being catapulted through the glass windows, landing on his side on shards of glass and debris.
Except, this time, the fireball hit him.
As the fire alarm shattered through the dark grey smoke, Greg dimly noticed the numbing pain in his limbs and the odor of burning skin. He tasted the bitter tang of his blood, felt the sharp pricks of glass grinding into his back. Somewhere, he knew the sprinklers had been triggered, but he touched nothing but flame. Focusing in and out of consciousness, the last thing he remembered was a distant scream before everything faded into black.
---------
"GREG!" Sara yelled out, running towards his lifeless body. Before she could move any further, a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind.
"Don't. We don't know if it's safe," Nick held her arms strongly while she struggled to break free.
Still fighting, she watched miserable as the paramedics came rushing through, carrying a stretcher. Firemen had arrived too, clearing the scene and dousing a blazing metal hoop that was in the middle of the lab.
Huh? What hoop? She shook her head and tried to remember what could've been ring-shaped in the lab. Then it hit her.
The fireworks display ring she and Warrick had collected from their crime scene.
It must've still been active, she thought in horror. And I didn't even realize it.
"Sara? We're going to the hospital." Nick gently tugged her away from the scene. Following blindly to the department vehicles, she realized that this time, it was all her fault.
---------
Monitors beeped in the sterile white room, signaling to the CSI team that Greg wasn't going to die anytime soon.
"He suffered third-degree burns on his hands, second-degree burns on his arms and legs, many abrasions and cuts from the glass when he clearly went through that window. A little dizzy from smoke inhalation too. He's also got a swollen ankle, probably from the impact landing, and a broken arm. Sprained his wrist too. Needless to say, he'll be in here for a couple of weeks." The doctor stopped reading from the clipboard and sighed, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "He's lucky that it wasn't worse."
"How long will he be here?" Catherine spoke from over by Greg's bed, where she was stroking his hand in a motherly fashion.
"Two to three weeks at best. He will still have a cast on for another three weeks after that. Hopefully his swollen ankle will heal during his time here at the hospital. Does he have any family?"
"All the way over in the East Coast," Sara supplied. "Why?"
"Well, they'll need to know his condition."
Sara frowned. It was as if the doctor might as well have said that Greg had a chance to death.
"I'll call them," Nick offered. Writing it down for him, Sara watched as he and Warrick left to find a phone.
"Anything we can do?" Catherine asked.
"Just let me know when he wakes up. He'll be wanting some painkillers."
---------
Greg blinked his eyes in confusion. The blackness had disappeared, leaving an almost blinding white. Looking at his right arm, he noticed that it was hanging in a sling, blanketed by a cast and cushioning. His arm was covered in bandages, and so were his legs. Grimacing at the pain in his ankle, he felt something stirring by his good arm.
"Sara?"
She jumped, and looked at him. Realizing he was awake, she bent over to give him an awkward hug.
"How are you?"
His voice rasped a little. "Thirsty."
Pouring him a glass of water, she held it for him as he downed the refreshing liquid in seconds.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry you're stuck here for a while."
He feebly waved it off. "What happened, anyway?"
Sara hesitated, thinking about how he would react. The ring of fire was her fault, after all. "It was my fault." He cocked his head to the side, but didn't say anything. "That fireworks accident case me and Warrick were working with? That ring in the fume hood was connected to a switch box."
Realization dawned on his face. "And when I moved it, I set it off. It wasn't your fault, Sara. You couldn't have known."
"I did know! I thought it was a dead connection." There were unshed tears in her eyes. "You could've died."
"And I didn't. It was just an accident." He handed her a tissue.
Dabbing at her eyes, she nodded but looked as if she didn't believe him. Instead of arguing, she got up. "I'm supposed to go get the doctor when you woke up. I'll be right back."
Setting the cup down on the bedside table, Sara left. Taking the moment of loneliness, he noticed quite a few colorful bouquets and flowers at the end of his cot. His face lighted up when he saw the chocolate boxes piled up to the side.
At that moment, the doctor, followed by Sara, came in. "Hi, Mr. Sanders. I'm Dr. Robinson and it seems you'll be here for two or three weeks."
"What?" Greg frowned. "I can't miss work!"
His friend rolled her eyes. "Honestly, that sounds like me. Grissom already gave you the time off. You can't work with a swollen ankle and burns all over."
"I can too." Using his arms to raise himself, he collapsed in defeat as pain wracked his body. "Ouch. That hurt," He winced, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I wouldn't do that, Mr. Sanders. I'll just inject some painkillers. You'll be a little woozy, so just sleep." Taking a sterile needle filled with morphine, Dr. Robinson injected the drug into an IV line and patted Greg on his good arm. "Get well."
Before drowsiness took over, Greg looked at Sara. Noticing the dark circles around her eyes, he reached for her hand comfortingly. A small smile graced her face as he began to drift back to sleep.
---------
"So how is he?"
"Sleeping like a log." Sara rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Dr. Robinson gave him painkillers."
Grissom nodded, and had an idea. "Sara, you're going to take leave."
"What for? I'm fine!"
"You're fine, but Greg's not. I want you to watch over him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. We want him out of there as fast as possible."
"But my case!" Sara protested.
"Warrick can do it solo. You two only needed to write the report, correct?" She nodded, and Grissom had it decided. "Greg will be your new case. We'll see you in two and a half weeks."
The brunette sighed and nodded, relieved. Now she could make sure he was healing and not worry herself sick at work.
---------
The weeks flew by as the two CSIs fell into routine. Every morning, Sara visited him as soon as visiting hours began, and left when the shift nurse remembered to kick her out. There was the occasional visit from Catherine, or Nick and Warrick, but it was usually the same.
So there was nothing else to do but just talk.
"When did the doctor say I could be released?" Greg reached for the orange juice on his tray.
"Three days. It's a miracle, apparently, only needing to be in here for just less than two weeks." Sara replied as she munched on one of the hospital cafeteria cookies.
"It's a miracle I even got out at all," he said ruefully.
She frowned. "Don't even think like that. You always pull through, always."
Greg stayed silent throughout the rest of the meal.
---------
"Welcome back, Greggo!" A brightly decorated banner was hung across the break-room, welcoming the former lab-tech back to the lab.
"How was the hospital?" Captain Jim Brass asked as he helped Catherine pass around the cake that had a picture of balloons ("The only un-childish cake I could find, you would think that they'd know that we adults like cake too!").
"Better food than what I can cook." Greg muttered dryly, and Brass gave a deep chuckle.
"Anything is better than your cooking."
As Brass walked off to talk to Grissom, Catherine and Warrick came up to him. "Ready to work again?""Are you kidding me? This IS work!"
---------
"Uh, Greg? That's the bromoform, not the marquis reagent." A petite hand stopped him from using the wrong substance.
Looking down, Greg saw that he had grabbed the wrong bottle. And they were two completely different colors, to boot. "Sorry, Mia. Not thinking today."
"I'll say. I can't see how you even remembered where the lab was, you've been off all week. You okay?" Alarm spread across her face as the person in question nearly dropped a glass beaker.
"Just tired, that's all. Don't worry."
As they turned back to their work, Mia couldn't help but do exactly that.
---------
"What's this, Greg?"
"I thought that was obvious."
"I'm serious. Why are you giving me a resignation slip?" Grissom did his classic 'why' look.
The younger CSI resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm quitting, obviously."
"Why?"
Greg huffed in annoyance. "It's on the damn paper, Grissom. I can't take it anymore. I've been screwing up in the lab, screwing up out on the field, and it's not looking good on the team."
"We can always give you a few days' leave, you know that."
Shaking his head, Greg began to head out the door. "It's already decided. I'm leaving to stay with my family tomorrow." Closing the door shut, he missed the look of remorse on Grissom's face.
---------
A very upset Catherine chose to storm through the lab about an hour after he had left Grissom's office.
"You're leaving?" The irate red-head nearly yelled in his face.
Nodding, Greg refused to look at her in the eye, but met Mia's unhappy ones instead.
"What? When?"
"Tomorrow."
"You weren't going to tell us?" The dark-skinned lab tech had hurt in her eyes, but he pretended not to notice.
"Bullshit, Greg, you can't just disappear on us!"
Catherine stood with her hands on her hips. "You can't leave. You're part of the family now. One of us," She offered, a little more quietly.
With a sigh, Greg picked up all his stuff and moved towards the door. As he left, he called back, "As of tomorrow, I'm not."
Mia and Catherine just looked at each other with defeat.
---------
As soon as he saw Nick and Warrick rounding the corner in the hallway, he knew he was in for it, big time.
"Hey, man, that's not cool. You're leaving us?" Nick looked down on him in undisguised annoyance.
"Yeah, dude. Who's gonna be making us the good stuff?"
Greg forced a laugh. "I'm leaving a good supply of the coffee, don't worry about that."
Warrick shook his head. "That's not what we're worrying about, Greggo. We're worrying about why."
"That's none of your business," he snapped, everyone's badgering getting on his nerves.
"It won't be any fun anymore," Nick tried. "No more jokes or crap like that."
He shook his head. "Sorry, but no." Making his way to the elevator, he heard Hodges say, "As much as I hated his choice of music, it's hard to believe I'm actually gonna miss him."
---------
In the wee hours of the morning, the bar was nearly empty save for a couple of drunk regulars and a seat up at the counter.
Sipping on the froth of his fourth beer, he was getting quite tipsy but didn't care.
It was better off this way, it seemed. Pushing the two lab accidents into the back of his mind and filed away as just a distant memory. It'd be harder to forget his friends, but he supposed that after a while he wouldn't feel the painful distance and that he'd get to start all over again. No more dead bodies staring lifelessly up at him (how he hated those autopsies), no more blood drops, no more Las Vegas. Yes, that really seemed to tie everything up, the city of where the rich either stayed filthy rich or dirt poor.
He felt someone sit next to him and didn't turn to look as a familiar voice called for a beer.
"I hope you aren't planning to drive home tonight," The same voice muttered softly in his ear.
Shaking his head, he frowned as he sipped his drink. "Sold my car already."
"Not the VW? I always liked that lemon."
He nodded. "So why are you here?"
"Getting you to stay."
Turning around on the barstool, he faced Sara as she looked at him. He couldn't read the expression in her eyes.
"It's too late. I'm going to be leaving in," He glanced up at the clock hanging between the restroom doors. "Four hours. For good."
Grasping his wrist, she gently tugged on it. "You can't leave us. We won't forget you, and you can't forget us." Letting go, her eyes pleaded with him.
She was close to making him stay, but not quite. Tossing a few bills on the counter, he stood up to leave.
She stood up too. With a sigh, she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and faced him. "Grissom says, if you ever want to come back, there's always spot open for you. I'm always here, too." Surprisingly kissing him gently on the cheek, she watched as he gave her a small, sad smile and disappeared into the shadows of the city.
---------
He really did leave, which was what everyone knew he would but hoped he wouldn't.
They did get a letter from him a few days later, postmarked from some small town in Pennsylvania. He was well, he said hi, and that they try not to blow up anything over there. They all got a laugh out of that one, albeit a gloomy one.
He sent them all separate postcards, asking how Lindsey was doing, if Warrick won any bets over Nick yet.
But he loved the message he sent to Sara the most.
I miss you.