Central Park, in the fall, had always been a safe place for Greg, and even now, years upon years removed from sitting on his favorite bench, he sat down again, and the feeling of coming home rushed through him. He smiled absently, putting the upcoming funeral and necessary obligations out of his mind. There really was nothing like New York in the September.
It was good to be back.
He glanced around and sighed, almost happily. Almost. When his aunt had called him, he had been driving to the lab, to start his shift. Instead, he drove to McCarran, and called Grissom to tell him there had been a sudden death in his family, not giving a timeframe for his return. Grissom had only wished him a safe flight, and told him not to worry. It was a good thing he never took time off. He wasn't completely sure how he felt, really… being on the other side of the crime tape on this one, and coming in after the fact, as well. Never mind that he wasn't completely ready to accept what had happened to his little cousin. He shifted uneasily between restlessness and a sort of apathetic detachment, both of which left him feeling guilty and grieving.
He supposed he should have told Sara, but she had gotten called in early, had already been at work for five hours before he had gotten in his truck. In his defense, they hadn't been together long enough for him to explain himself, but knowing her, she'd worry when he suddenly failed to show up at the lab after leaving him naked and asleep in her bed hours before.
As if on cue, his phone rang, singing its rendition of 'Pretty Woman,' signifying Sara on the other end.
"Sanders." Greg sighed into his phone as he slouched back into the bench he had loved so much as a child.
"Gris said you took a few days vacation. You okay?" He smiled at the familiar voice on the other end, and at her blatant concern.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Family stuff." There was no need to worry her.
"When will you be back?"
"Thursday? Yeah, should be back Thursday for shift." He smiled softly into the receiver. "I'll call you when I get in."
"Are you sure you're okay? Where are you?"
"Ah, at the moment, Central Park."
"New York City?"
"That's where my cousin is." He cringed, taking a sharp breath, regaining composure quickly. "I'm fine, Sara. I'll be home in a couple of days. I'll keep my phone on, okay?" He glanced around, spotting his old friend walking towards him in the distance.
"Alright."
"It's only a few days, love."
"You could have told me before you got on a plane, Greg. I had to hear that from Grissom."
"Yeah sorry. It was kinda short notice." He waved, catching Danny's attention. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. I, I just- can we talk about it when I get home?"
"Okay. I love you."
"I love you too. Have fun with the floater."
"Yeah, yeah. Bye." He smiled, flipping shut his phone, and stood to greet the other man with a brief hug.
"Thought I'd find you here." Danny Messer smiled wearily at his childhood friend, suddenly glad the other man had sought him out, even if the circumstances were tragic.
"Habit, I guess. Peace and quiet in a busy city." The two men sat down on the bench, and Greg regarded his friend with a concerned expression. "Tell me about my cousin."
"I can't talk about the case, man." He paused, momentarily distracted by the family of ducks trotting across the walkway. "What d'you want me to say?"
"Scientist to scientist. Hypothetically." Greg sat back, taking in Danny's tired, worn thin expression. He knew Danny's objection to disclosing case information was bureau protocol, and once they made it through what he was supposed to say, the detective who worked Carensa's case would give him a detailed account that he could then relate to his grieving, angry aunt.
"Found her in an alley. Sharp force trauma to the back of the skull. No shoes. fake blood- colored sugary syrup used by the Suicide Girls for an act they do at the club around the corner from the crime scene. Homage to Carrie." Danny turned his attention to his hands, and Greg frowned, taking in what Danny was telling him.
"I knew about the Suicide Girl gig."
"News to me. They're a special breed."
"What'd you find?" Danny cleared his throat, frowning as Greg's voice cracked with emotion.
"Distinct, blunt impressions on her skull- definitely COD. She'd been bludgeoned with the heel of a stiletto, repetitively. Four clear hits in the skull, one in the chest. Obliterated the second name in her chest piece, all we saw was 'Til death do us part, Omen and…someone.' We reconstructed it in the lab. We got a former ME on our team, he pulled her chest apart, then put the epidermis back together again. Name we were lookin' for was 'Al.'" Danny cleared his throat roughly, pushing the frames of his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Tears that had welled up in Greg's eyes went unmentioned by both men, but unnoticed by neither. After a moment, Danny continued.
"Al is short for Alice. Alice Suicide is the stage name of your cousin's girlfriend. It's also short for Albert, the name of the guy that Carensa was rebounding with, and who she got to do the chest piece."
"That's the guy you charged with her murder."
"Yeah. He thought he was inkin' his own name. He got really mad when he realized he'd been played. Bludgeoned her with her own shoes from the skit."
"My aunt said you gave her some details, but not all of that."
"She didn't need all the science." Danny smirked softly, compassion scribed in his features. "She wasn't really receptive to what I had to say. About anything."
"She's a very emotive person." Greg ran a hand through his hair, making the unruly, wavy curls fall disheveled. "And you got the butt end of her stubborn streak. I'm really sorry, Dan. She's grieving, and she's in shock."
Danny nodded, dismissing Greg's apology. He knew what grief did to people. After a few minutes, Greg spoke again.
"C'mon, Detective, I could use a cup of the New York stuff." Danny smiled; relieved his childhood friend had taken the details of his cousin's murder somewhat more calm than his aunt, nearly a week ago. Greg Sanders pulled himself together with what his mother always referred to as his 'work face,' a set expression he usually only reserved for criminals whose crimes disgusted and enraged him, but the job required a an objective appearance.
Greg shivered slightly against the late autumn breeze, allowing himself to feel comforted, watching Danny stride confidently beside him, he was reassured that this cocky, determined detective that used to be his law breaking science geek cohort was the best man to lock up his cousin's killer. Greg was convinced Danny Messer rarely went home until there was justice. As a kid, he did everything and anything with a passionate intensity, and Greg easily saw how that had carried over into his adult life.
The determined manner in which his longtime friend hoofed the pavement of the crowded city sidewalk conveyed the headstrong demeanor that laid at least his own demons to rest. Maybe it just took another New Yorker to understand a guy like Danny Messer.
But then again, maybe it took a scientist to understand another science nerd.
"Funny, though, Dan. Of all the places to make a living, you pick the two-seven." There was a light, cautious teasing in Greg's tone, and Danny grinned.
"What can I say, I was inspired by the exceptional police work I witnessed there as a kid."
"I'm just surprised your rap sheet didn't follow you, even if you were cleverly disguised as a science geek." Greg shot his friend a smug smile, following the other man into a tiny, quiet diner, slipping into a booth. "At least, when I started in Vegas, I looked the part." Danny Messer snorted a laugh, nodding to the waitress that yes, they did want two coffees.
"Looks are decieving, Mr. Sanders."
"Nah. We were science geeks." Greg sat back, and grinned at his friend. Danny chuckled, and shook his head, remembering the years he spent living with Greg.
"You were the geek. I was a jock, man. It's the uniform that gets the girls."
"Yeah, not too many opportunities to get sweaty and dirty in a chem lab." Greg cracked a smile, making Danny laugh, relaxing when he saw that the kid he'd hung around with fifteen years ago was still present in the weathered, hardened man he'd become. At ease with a transition in conversation away from his own casefiles, Danny cocked an eyebrow.
"Speaking of getting the girl, how's whatsherface?" He thanked the waitress quietly as she set down two thick ceramic mugs before them, and a tiny metal pitcher of cream, listening to his companion.
"Sara? She's good. Pissed I hopped on a plane without telling her where I was going. She got called in early this morning on a floater." Greg smirked sadly, dropping a dollop of cream into his coffee, watching it swirl, the black seeping into the white.
"You guys getting serious?"
"Something like that. But it's not like here. Our director's an ass. We have to keep it quiet." He smiled at his friend, watching a group of kids hustle by the window. "Long ago, when we used to keep in touch, you said you're after some country girl. What happened with Cindy?"
"Yeah." Danny frowned, suddenly feeling a bit awkward talking about his new girlfriend with his old girlfriend's former neighbor. "Cindy saw it before I did. When we broke up, we had this huge fight, you know? And she just blew up at me, an' I guess I deserved it. No, I definitely deserved it."
"You cheat, Messer?"
"Never." Danny frowned, suddenly looking old. "She just, we just grew apart. I mean, we were together back when I was still swingin' the bat, you know? I guess." Danny sighed heavily, glancing at Greg apologetically. "We were always better at the off part of 'off and on' anyway. I guess I'm a different person now."
"I should hope so."
"Thanks for standing by me, man." Danny wrapped a hand around his mug, taking a slow sip of hot coffee, letting the swirls of steam warm his face for a moment.
"Like anyone coulda gotten you to the hospital faster." Greg grinned at his friend, pleased to see that Danny was still capable of taking a joke- and he began to feel a bit more at ease with the city of New York and his reason for making the journey back to the east coast.
He'd seen it all, he had, seen Danny at his best, and had seen Danny at his worst, driving him to the emergency room after the barroom brawl that ended his baseball career. They had been best friends for most of their lives, all of their childhood, and now, thousands of miles apart, they still relied on each other in those times that tough New Yorker guys don't like to think about.
Moments of weakness such as these.
"Hey- if you got the time, I'm sure Momma'd love to see you before you head back to Vegas." Danny ran a finger over the brim of his mug, offering a truce to Greg. He had screwed up with Helen Sanders, and he couldn't fix the pain and heart ache he might have caused, but he could at least try to bring a bit of joy to his grieving friend in its place.
"She still do dinner on Sundays?"
"Oh yeah."
"Count me in, Messer."