Author's Note: Mm, yes, being mean to Greg is the most fun a gal can have writing CSI fan fiction. Though the story I almost posted was a comedy. Go figure. Er, one of you asked about pairings. There are none outside of the canon GSR (and by canon GSR I mean the subtle hints you might get in the show, so no, that relationship won't be developing in this story). Otherwise, this story is completely friendship oriented.


Chapter Three: Discoveries

There was a light knock at the door and Greg opened his eyes and blinked a few times before yawning widely. The sun was shining outside his window. This made him smile. In the light of day, he could convince himself that his problems were far away. And if no one but him knew, he would eventually be able to convince himself that nothing had happened at all.

"Greg?" The soft accent curled around his name like a warm cat at the foot of his bed. He looked up to see Dr. Evans by the door, holding her clipboard to her chest as her red lips curled into a smile. "Your friends are anxious to see you."

Greg smiled weakly. "Yeah, sure, send 'em in," he told her.

She stepped aside and in filed Nick, Catherine, Warrick, Brass and Grissom, each one bearing a grin so large it strengthened Greg's smile.

"Hey," he said. His throat was dry, and slightly constricted, but at least he could speak again. "What have you guys been up to?"

"Worrying about you, mostly," Nick replied. "How you holdin' up?"

"Where's Sara?" Greg asked, avoiding the question because he wasn't sure how to answer it.

"Working overtime," Grissom replied. "She processed your scene. Says she won't leave the lab until she has some sort of lead."

"Which reminds me," Brass said. "You wanna tell us what went down over there?"

I did, Greg thought bitterly. "Uh, yeah…" he said, and his friends gathered around his bedside to hear the story. His eyes darted over to Dr. Evans, who was waiting by the door and hugging her clipboard like a security blanket. She was watching him with those sharp blue eyes and Greg knew she would see right through his lie before his friends did. "What did Sara… find at the scene exactly?" he asked slowly, so as to formulate his story to best fit her evidence.

"Your shirt," Nick replied. "And your belt. Both in tatters. Plus the knife to cut your throat. Your kit and a, uh… flashlight I think?" He looked at Grissom and Warrick for help, who both nodded.

"And your gun," Brass added in a gruff voice. "Covered in blood."

Greg blanched. But luckily enough for him, Dr. Evans gasped, drawing their attention. She blushed slightly and excused herself. "I'm sorry, you probably want to be alone…"

"No," Greg said suddenly, for some reason finding the doctor's presence soothing. "No, stay," he said. "Please."

She gave him a curious look before nodding. Greg took a deep breath and began. "So I was… checking the perimeter when I saw blood drops, which I figured came from transporting the severed head. Anyway, I followed them thinking it wouldn't go far, and then blood drops turned into tire tracks. I turned around a moment to see how far from the house I'd gone when he just grabbed me and forced me to the ground. He cut the shirt off my back and tore it up, using it to bind and gag me and then he pulled my head back and was about to slash my throat when Nick called me and he just bolted." He knew he had conveniently left some minor details out of the story, but otherwise it had been the truth.

"But what about your belt?" Warrick asked slowly.

"I guess he cut that too," Greg replied.

"We didn't find you bound…" Nick said slowly.

"Well I got out of it, didn't I?" Greg snapped, irately. "What's wrong, you sound like you don't believe me."

"We do," Nick assured him. "We do, but…"

"Some things are out of place," Grissom said slowly. "Like your gun. What happened to your gun?"

Greg's eyes darted over to Dr. Evans, who was eying him curiously. "I… I… I don't know, do I?" he burst out. "I had a knife to my fucking throat, alright? I was kind of preoccupied with that!"

"Calm down, Greg, we know it wasn't easy," Brass said.

That was probably the second biggest understatement Greg had heard in his entire lifetime, beat out only by his ninth grade lab partner who in astronomy one day had called the universe 'kinda big.' He sighed, knowing he seemed to them to be acting unreasonable. "OK, um… My best guess is when he cut me, I bled on it or something…"

"But—"

"OK." Grissom's calm, accepting word interrupted Brass's next question. He looked at the others. "I'm going to get some coffee. Does anyone want any?"

The others looked rather stunned. "Gil…?" Catherine said slowly.

He smiled at her enigmatically and rose to his feet. "Decaff for you?"

"I'm good," she replied.

"Anyone else?" Grissom offered, but they shook their heads. Grissom nodded politely at Greg. "I'll see you again soon, Greg."

"Yeah," Greg said with a weak smile. "Good to see you." He had the feeling Grissom wouldn't come back today, with or without coffee. Grissom headed to the door and nodded politely at Dr. Evans. He then leaned in close and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, her face expressionless and left the room with Grissom, leaving Greg and his friends to ponder his peculiar behavior.


"Thank you," Grissom said to Riza out in the hall, "for speaking with me."

"If you have any concerns that I can address, then I'm glad to help," Riza replied with a sweet smile.

"I do, actually," Grissom said. "Have concerns, I mean. I have a lot of concerns."

Riza laughed lightly. "I know he looks a little pale right now, but I can assure you—"

"It's not about his pallor, it's about his position," Grissom replied. Riza didn't understand and it was evident in her expression. Grissom explained. "Why is he lying on his side?"

"Perhaps it's more comfortable for him," Riza answered, as though she had expected this question to be asked.

Grissom didn't like prepared answers. "With a neck wound like that, it seems like lying on his side might agitate it," he replied.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Grissom," Riza said with a helpless shrug.

"Tell me the truth," Grissom said sternly. "I'm a Crime Scene Investigator, Dr. Evans. I depend on the evidence to tell me the story because people tend to lie." He glanced back through the window at Greg, who was smiling and laughing with his friends. "Even good people. Like Greg." He turned back to Riza. "And I'm sure he has good reason, and you're bound to keep his medical records confidential if he asks you to, I understand that. But he has other injuries that you're not telling me about, and it has to do with an ongoing investigation in the rape and murder of a young woman."

Riza was baffled. "What? What does Greg have to do with that?"

"The woman was decapitated," Grissom explained. "And not very cleanly. The wound on Greg's neck tells me it wasn't meant to slit his throat, it was meant to cut all the way through his neck, which is why the edges of it are sloppier and ill-defined. Someone was hacking at his neck, not slicing it. We found a gun at the scene covered in blood and Greg cannot account for how that happened. His belt was torn to shreds. According to Nick, Greg hung up on him when Nick said he could see where Greg was. If you've just been attacked and need medical assistance, why would you do that?"

Riza avoided his eyes as it suddenly became painful to look at him. She hugged her clipboard tighter to her chest. "I have other patients I should be seeing to, so if you don't have any questions about his health…"

"You know as well as I do what the evidence tells me," Grissom said in a low voice. "I just need you to confirm what I already know."

She looked up at him, her face solemn. "I can't do that, Mr. Grissom."

He sighed. "I know it's hospital policy to protect rape victims if they don't want to report the crime. But Dr. Evans, if my theory is correct, than we may be dealing with a serial killer, and whatever evidence Greg is keeping from us could help us catch him faster. If I have to get a warrant, I will. If I have to ask Greg myself, I will."

"Then ask Greg yourself," Riza replied. "Because I've told you all I can."

"You haven't denied my postulations," Grissom noted.

"I have not," she replied.

Grissom heaved a long, tired sigh, as though he had been clinging to some desperate hope that he was wrong. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand before shaking his head and looking back into Greg's room. He looked older than he probably was at that moment, his tired eyes lingering on the frail boy in the next room. Riza had seen that look before, in the eyes of fathers who learned the truth about what happened to their daughters. It was strange seeing it on Gil Grissom's face, a man who shared no blood with the victim, and yet seemed invested in the youth's general wellbeing, or at least more so than a boss generally was invested his employee's health. She felt as though she should say something. She was, after all, famous among her colleagues at being empathic towards her patients and their worried relatives. And yet, for the first time in fifteen years of being a resident at Desert Palms, she had absolutely no idea what to say to this man other than the obvious.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom," Riza said quietly.

The only sign he gave that he had even heard her was a slight nod as his eyes remained on Greg. He seemed to decide something. "No one hurts my guys," he whispered, before turning around and heading down the hall.


Sara was pouring her fifth cup of coffee in the break room. She was so jittery that when her cell phone went off, she jumped and nearly spilled the whole pot. She took it out and saw a new text message. Hodges had her results. Her heart began beating more rapidly in her chest. In his discreet, Hodges way, he had included a little sad face after the note.

She made her way quickly out of the break room forgetting her newly brewed coffee and almost ran headlong into Henry but succeeded in dodging him. She spun around the corner of the DNA lab with so much momentum she had to grab onto the doorframe to keep from toppling over. She then realized Hodges wasn't there. Panicking, she turned around and headed for the trace lab, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes were eager as she saw Hodges sitting in a swivel chair looking at some papers.

"Well?" she gasped desperately. "What did you find?"

"Two donors on the knife," Hodges said, not turning to face her as he looked at the papers. "One was Greg's, and the other your victim at that house."

Sara nodded. "I figured as much. Tell me something else. What about the gun?"

"The shirt," Hodges continued as if Sara hadn't spoken, "was cut only once. You can see how neat the break is between the fibers. But then it was torn, twice. They both had Greg's epithelials, my guess is from him wearing it, but one of them was a mix of blood and saliva."

"Saliva?" Sara frowned. "It was in his mouth?"

Hodges nodded. He still wouldn't look at her. It was eerie, seeing him act so calm and businesslike. Not a snide remark to be heard. Sara didn't like it. "One had a knot in it, though it had been cut through. The one with the blood and saliva looked as though it had been tied at one time too. My guess is, they were binds."

Sara nodded. "OK, so he was bound," she said quietly. "You still haven't told me about the gun."

"His belt," Hodges said, "was cut in several places, probably by the knife. No trace of anything on it except dirt."

"Hodges," Sara said, taking the back of his chair and spinning him around so he was facing her. "What is it you're not telling me?"

He looked up at her with wide, guilty eyes like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. He took a breath then hesitated before handing the papers to Sara. "Your gun," he said slowly. "There wasn't just blood on it."

Sara frowned at the results on the paper, obviously confused. "Tissue and… fecal matter? Hodges, this doesn't make any…" But then, all of a sudden, it did make sense. It made too much sense. The paper fluttered from her fingers to the floor, and neither she nor Hodges bent to pick it up. "My God…"

"My thoughts exactly," Hodges replied.

Her fingers flew to her lips to contain a gasp and without saying even a goodbye, she spun on her heal and walked swiftly out the door and down the hall, this time actually knocking into poor Henry but not even stopping to apologize. She covered her mouth with her hand before pushing open the door to the entrance to the parking lot where she saw a nearby bush and couldn't hold her revulsion in any longer as she threw up.

After a couple dry heaves and some coughing, she was left with that bitter taste of old pizza and orange juice in her mouth, but nothing was as bitter as the thoughts that lingered in her mind. She closed her eyes and rested her hands on her knees as she caught her breath, images flooding her mind of what Greg must have suffered through. It was almost enough to make her sick all over again.

As she took deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart and recover from her last bout of nausea, her phone began to ring. She closed her eyes and swallowed, wishing she had some gum. She tried not to think of what that must have been like for Greg and instead focused her energy on what she was going to do to the guy that had done it to him. With a deep breath, knowing the news she would have to relay, she answered the phone.

"Sidle," she sighed.

"Sara, it's worse than we realized," came Grissom's voice.

Her heart stopped. "Oh my God, what happened? Is he OK? Did the transfusion not take?"

"What?" He sounded confused. How typical of Grissom to be difficult in a time like this. She growled in frustration and he seemed to realize what she was talking about. "Greg? Oh, no, I'm sorry, he's… he's healthy."

Sara noticed he had avoided using the word 'fine.' "Well then what were you talking about if not Greg?"

"I was talking about Greg," Grissom replied. "Just not how he's doing. It's what happened to him. It's… It's not what we thought."

"I know," Sara whispered. "I just got the lab results on the blood on Greg's gun."

"And…?" Grissom prompted.

"And…" She felt the tears sting her eyes and blinked them away. "And Grissom…"

"I know," he said quietly. "I talked to the doctors."

"Oh God…" Sara said, half talking half sobbing. "Grissom… Grissom, I don't know what to do."

He sighed, sounding oddly defeated himself. "Neither do I," he told her, confirming her suspicions. Sara didn't like it when Grissom was out of ideas. Grissom was never out of ideas. He always had a plan. He always had a next step. He always knew the perfect way to tackle any situation. He was always cool and calm and the only one of them to keep the most level head in a crisis. If Grissom was lost, than so was the flock he shepherded.

"Don't say that," Sara whispered. "Please, Grissom, don't say that."

"I think I'm going to talk to him," Grissom said slowly. "But he's been lying to us, Sara. He doesn't want us to know. And…" He paused for a long time. "And I don't want to be the one to tell him that we already do."

Sara smiled to reassure him, though she knew deep down that it was more to reassure herself as he couldn't see her. "Grissom, I can't think of a better person to tell him."

"You're only saying that because you don't want to do it either."

In spite of everything, she tossed back her head and let out a loud, barking laugh. It felt good.

"OK," Grissom said, sounding more sure of himself now. "You know. I know. I don't want anyone else on this case, understand? Keep Nick, Catherine and Warrick far away from it. Greg obviously doesn't want this advertised across the lab. Do all the lab work yourself."

"Hodges knows," Sara told him. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Good, he can help you with the lab work then," Grissom said simply. "Give your evidence directly to him and tell him he processes all of it."

"He'll like that," Sara said with a small smile. "It'll make him feel important."

"So we can help Greg and stroke Hodges' ego while we're at it, fantastic," Grissom said with just the hint of sarcasm.

But Sara was grinning. "I like that you're giving me a plan. I like having a plan."

"Having a plan is good," Grissom agreed. "Especially when everything else is so chaotic."