Sorry for the wait!

Been between finding and preparing for a new job, and a rather nasty cold that left me in bed for a week, so this is a bit behind. Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta!

Thanks to all those who read and reviewed last chapter and I hope to hear from again!


Chapter Nine: Trying Times

There was a time when she had almost given up hope. Almost; the word was strangely funny in a bitter way. There had been many 'almosts' in her life, many of which she chose not to remember. But neither could she forget them; they would from time to time remind her of what not to do. Just like now.

Part of Lena had always known, somewhere deep inside, that her son was alive. Reason and rationality had told her to believe otherwise, but the mothering instinct refused to give in, refused to believe. How right that instinct had been. The one call that had turned everything upside down had now righted itself back up with another similar call.

Greg had been the only thing on her mind since. It still was, even as she sat beside him now. There had been quiet regrets when she first came in the room; her parents were already there and her husband behind her. Sara, the woman she had met several times before was present in the room as well. They all made way for her, some even leaving the room as she ventured forth. There were quiet whispers, gentle warnings, but she heard none of them.

Though he lay stretched out on the white sheets, the bruises marring his face and the skin pulling dauntingly about every bone the only thing Lena saw was her son. And to her, he was as beautiful as the first time she had ever seen him. His skin was warm to the touch as though he was running a fever, and his eyes had opened at the soothing touch, the gaze questioning but distant as he fought through the impending sleep.

His eyes focused on her, blinking in uncertainty, and it was then Lena could no longer hold it in. She was crying; tears of joy, tears of relief. Her son, her Greg was alive. One hand held his, the other rested on his forehead, fingers brushing through his hair. She wanted to hold him, to lay with him, to be as humanly close to him as it was possible. She never wanted to let him go again. And his voice…

"Mom?"

She hushed him, at the same time hating herself for it. For so long she had waited to hear his voice, and so many questions lingered on her mind. But he was exhausted; she could tell it by the look in his eyes, the expression on his face. The mother in her won over her curiosity; the questions could wait. Whatever the answers were she would accept them, for better or for worse. She knew who her son truly was; whatever he said wouldn't change that fact.

"You came all the way out here?"

The uncertainty in his voice threatened to shatter her heart. Her hold on him only grew tighter as she answered. "I've come before, why wouldn't I now?"

"It's so far…"

Lena smiled; it was a sad empty feeling coursing through her that she could not even express as she quieted him. He was still very much the same boy she remembered, always considered others before himself, sometimes to the point of an unhealthy obsession. "I could travel halfway across the world and it still wouldn't be too far."

She could see him relax, embracing the new knowledge and letting it comfort him. The change could be seen in his eyes, as if he had expected something else, resentment perhaps. There could only be so many reasons to why he would. They were thoughts she didn't want to think. Lena forced another smile letting them drift out of her mind as she turned her attention back to her son. What would happen in the future could wait till they arrived there, but for now she had other priorities.

He was trying to talk again, to fill in the gaps of silence but she quieted him. Enough was enough for one day, rest was what he needed. It didn't take much prompting on her side; Greg was already tired as it was and she had never meant to wake him the first time upon entering.

Asleep, as he was, he appeared to be even more vulnerable. Something you would see in a magazine ad, or a commercial on the television. Someone you would glance at and hurt knowing that you couldn't help in any other way. It was how she felt now. Sitting by him and stroking his hair only gave comfort; if it was more for her than him she couldn't tell. At the same time she couldn't force herself to stop.

She had been away from him before and letting him go had been one of the hardest decisions on her part. But somehow she could understand it. She had left her own parents the first chance she had. It wasn't as though she hated them, or disliked them even. Lena simply wanted to taste freedom, to be on her own and experience life for herself.

Greg had simply wanted the same; she couldn't blame her son for that. But why he had chosen to move clear across the country had baffled her. If it hadn't been for her husband she would have followed. It was sad how he would remind her of the quiet promise she had spoken to her son. When he was younger she had a lot of control in his life, and most of what she did was to keep him safe. Grown now, however, his choices were his own. For the better or worse, and this definitely was for the worse. Lena was now starting to regret that choice.

Yet the past couldn't be changed; she couldn't continue to sit here and blame old mistakes. The focus had to be on the future. The thoughts rested with her as she rested her hand against his forehead. He was still warm to the touch and he had begun to move as though fidgeting. She spoke to him as though he were still a small child. It wasn't as awkward as she imagined it could be. He almost looked small at the moment.

When he was young her voice would have been enough to calm him. Her presence had always been enough to chase away whatever demons threatened to plague him. Those had been simple nightmares; whatever terrors resided with him now were obviously more vibrant and dark in nature. Lena forgot her promise to let him sleep wanting instead to break him free of whatever hold the dreams had him in.

His quiet mutterings had turned into more desperate cries, soft and fast that were all muddled together and barely distinguishable. It was only when he began to push away that she tightened her grip, raising her voice at the same time. Her actions had grabbed someone's attention, but not Greg's. If they were coming to check up on him or simply passing by she would never know, but she was thankful that the nurses were just there. The last thing Lena wanted to do was admit that her son was scaring her, but uttering any other words would have been a simple lie.

Greg had never been a violent man; as a kid growing up he had been reluctant to even set out mice traps during the winter, working instead to devise live traps so that he could capture the unwanted rodents and release them safely in the nearby park. Wherever that boy was she didn't know; what she did know was this man lashing out at those trying to help him was not her son. He wasn't speaking, and even the words that flowed around the room filled with urgent requests failed to calm him as he fought back, his eyes open but seemingly unaware of what was actually happening.

She felt her heart break as she was ushered from the room without as much as a simple protest. Her mind told her that she should allow the staff to do their jobs, but her heart wanted to stay by his side in case these were his last moments. What kind of mother was she to do otherwise? Even with the door closed she could still see the images in her mind, the distress in his eyes and she felt herself shaking from both fear and rage. Not knowing what was happening was fearful, but knowing this was a result of another being was enraging.

Lena lost it then; like a hammer plowing into her chest she could feel it break open, releasing a torrent of tears. What a sight she must have been. Not just for her family and distant friends, but to complete strangers that happened to wander down the hall. Yet it was a hospital for heavens sake. Little more could be expected and if anyone gave her a second glance she never noticed.

Nor did she have to look or ask to whom it was that held her close and though she could not hear the words that were being spoken she knew what they were asking. She also knew that she could not answer them, for the words were playing in her own conscious mind. The questions toying with her as a cat would with a mouse tauntingly close but so far away in resolution. That was the way everything seemed; this entire ordeal, an endless joke that was sick in nature, like a bad dream one would long to wake from but not have the power to do so.

That very question rested on her mind; would she ever wake up from this bad dream?


He had been born in Michigan in 1969. His father had died when he was twelve, leaving him to be raised by his mother who worked full time in a mental hospital. Darren Mathews graduated High School twelfth in his class of over two hundred, a fair feat in all itself. He had gone to Berkley in New York, majoring in Criminal Law. His stats there weren't as impressive as his high school's, but then there was a lot more competition. Even still, Mathews spent five years after college working as a janitor in a police station in Jersey before becoming a rookie on the police force. Sometimes a degree didn't get you all that far when the opportunity didn't present itself to you.

That wasn't much of a point though, Brass realized. He had dug up as much information as he could about Ecklie's new right hand man, but virtually he was left empty-handed. The detective could tell you anything, and perhaps everything pertaining to Darren Mathews, but it wouldn't help him with the problem he still had. Brass had no idea if Mathews was with them, or against them. He had no idea if this spelled trouble for Greg, or if secretly the man was rooting for the ex-CSI.

Then again why would he? The question was a mockery in itself, taunting him as Grissom came in without so much as a knock or introduction. He seemed to do that a lot, even more so as of late. Brass didn't blame him, and he only shook his head as the other man sat down.

"I can give you numbers and figures and stats," Brass told him calmly, waving a hand. "It won't do much good. I think Mathews is as slimy as he appears. This could spell real trouble for Sanders, you know that."

"He isn't our only concern. Sara just called from the hospital; there's some issues going on there."

"Well, you didn't expect things to be a walk in the park, did you know?" Brass wondered, leaning back in his chair. He had seen many things in his lifetime, and was sure Grissom had seen all the more. Seeing it, and being a part of it, were two different things. Certainly the other man understood that.

Grissom was rubbing his temples; fighting off another migraine. They got bad when he was stressed, and they all had been that these last few days. Stressed, and sick to the stomach. Brass couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal. Good for losing weight; bad for keeping up any sort of strength. Sleeping; now that was a whole other matter.

"Greg attacked several of the staff; physically lashed out at them. They're not allowing anyone in to see him at the moment. Sara believes he wasn't…coherent at the time that it happened."

"How bad?"

Grissom shook his head, "I don't know how aggressive he became, but it was enough they had to sedate and restrain him. Sara's trying to work something out with his doctor, but either way it doesn't look good."

"I'm sure our friend Mathews has already heard of this then?"

"If he hasn't, he will. I don't know if it will be held against him in court with this case, but it's possible the judge will bring it up. It shows a level of violence that none of us can physically argue against."

"Greg wasn't in the correct frame of mind; drug abuse, withdrawals, torture and recent kidnapping; that can make anyone crazy," Brass pointed out. This alone would be a hard fight; Greg needed all the help he could get.

"We haven't proven that yet," Grissom reminded him. "Warrick and Nick are still going over old evidence, but we're still missing key points. There's another scene out there somewhere, a location somewhere. There has to be; a place where his kidnapper restrained him. Greg wouldn't stay voluntarily."

"Unless it was his choice; you know that's what any judge would say."

Grissom nodded. "That's why we have to find it. We need to talk to Greg again, get something out of him. We can't do that when we can't even get into his room."

"He's not talking anyway," Brass shrugged his shoulders. "He had more than enough chances. You can't just keep bringing him back in hopes that he'll finally cave in and give you what he wants."

"We need to build trust," the other man explained. "Give him reason to not fear us, make him understand we're trying to help."

He wanted to laugh at the statement. It seemed so absurd. "Why wouldn't he trust us already? I'll admit, I'm not his best friend, and there've been times when I've been harder on him than I probably should have been. But between you and me, I've never kidnapped him and tortured him. Technically I rescued him, I'm a savor in a sense."

"Technically you arrested him."

Brass shrugged, smiling a notch though the joke itself was in bad taste. "I had to do my job; otherwise I'd be in a similar position as he is. Well, as far as the side of the law is concerned, not so much physically."

"We're both doing what we can. There's still more to do," Grissom mused.

"You'll let me know if anything changes?"

He was curious as much as he was concerned. Sara wasn't working on the case, but he had a feeling the woman would still pull through in proving Greg wasn't responsible for these latest actions. At least that was the hope he was clinging to. If Greg had intentionally attacked someone, it could read ill for this case and his situation in more than one way. The thought alone was disturbing, but it was there still, and it only blossomed in his mind when he was left to his own devices.

He needed a distraction, something real and tangible that wouldn't allow his mind to wander. Heading home was out of the question because only an empty house would be waiting for him. Brass sat for a moment longer, fingers tapping on Mathew's file before him. It was then he decided that past information wasn't going to give him what he wanted. He realized then that he needed to go to the source. And that was exactly what he was going to do.


It was frustrating in an irritating way. She knew the procedure, understood it, and even vouched for it. Sara had been in enough hospitals, had collected enough evidence from victims and suspects to know that this was what happened in such cases. But this time it was different; didn't they understand that?

She had explained it to them, she had pleaded and begged. The story alone had been difficult to get. Filtered and broken pieces from Lena; irate and shocked bits from the nurses who came staggering out of his room and the last fillers from Greg's doctor himself after emerging nearly an hour later.

Dr. Lance hadn't stayed around to hear her out either. Sara spent the better part of the next hour running him down once it was apparent Greg's room had been marked off limits. Visiting hours were now over so the chances she would get back in were slim; but at the very least she might be able to convince the doctor to let his family back in. She could only imagine the fear that could be plaguing the man as it was.

Terrified, sedated, and restrained, alone in a room with perhaps only the foggiest of ideas of where he actually was. That alone was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity, but for Greg it had to be ten times worse. That was why she needed to talk to Lance, to convince him that this wouldn't work, that it couldn't. He had always seemed to be a reasonable man before.

The only time Sara spent going off in a different direction was to speak with Grissom. She had promised to keep him and the others informed. There wasn't time to call everyone in her phone book, but she knew the scientist would spread the word.

Aaron had stayed with Lena outside of Greg's room. Nana and Olaf stayed only long enough to hear the story. If they were tired from the journey and the stress, or if they simply needed a break, she couldn't tell. They had departed shortly before her phone call with Grissom ended, leaving promises to return in the morning. It was perhaps for the best. There was little more they could do here, and at the rate Lena was going the woman wouldn't let anyone near Greg once she was allowed back in the room. A mother's love, fierce and unquestioned. Yet another thing Sara had never experienced.

That would have to be dwelt on later. It was increasingly irritating how such petty things kept interfering with what she wanted to be a true meaning. Sara wanted to help Greg in any way that she could. If that was for him, or for herself, she still wasn't quite sure. Though she couldn't help wondering if it made any difference in the end. The same result was still achieved, and if they both benefited from it in the end what harm could come of it?

She could ask that question of herself for a thousand times and the answer wouldn't be any clearer than the muddled mess it was now. It felt wrong as it felt selfish, but Sara couldn't change the way she thought or the feelings that clouded her judgment. That judgment now was an angry disposition, a mixture of fear and pain over what had happened, and the possible reasonings behind why it had happened.

It was an hour and thirteen minutes she had spent waiting outside of his office. That was an hour and thirteen minutes after the hour and four minutes he had spent inside of Greg's room. In total that was two hours and seventeen minutes. Entirely too long for her taste in waiting for an answer.

"I have other responsibilities, as you might know," Lance warned her as he approached.

Honestly she didn't care. He wasn't as warm and polite as he had been with her before. Sara was on her feet following him without an invitation; part of her believed that he wouldn't let her in unless she forced her way. Lucky for her the man had to maintain some level of profession. He was a prominent figure in the eye of the public, carrying with him certain obligations. That played in her favor, and Sara wouldn't forget it any time soon.

"He's in a fragile state right now." There was no gain in battering about familiarities. Lance obviously knew why she was here. The sooner things were fixed, the better things would be. Granted she couldn't fix what already had been done, but at the very least she could better them.

"Miss Sidle, we have a procedure to follow , it is hospital policy. It doesn't matter who he is, or the fact he has ties in the police department. You have no right to threaten us with legal action, so do us both a favor and do not bring it up in this conversation," he pointed out, pulling a book from the shelf as he sat down.

"There are other patients here that require my time and attention, and several of my nurses have expressed deep concern over treating Mr. Sanders with his latest outburst. My first concern is their safety. Consider yourself lucky that I am making it my responsibility to continue seeing to his treatment."

"It is your responsibility," Sara frowned. This was not the way she had planned this discussion. It had thrown her off kilter, she would be the first to admit. Yet she wasn't willing to lose this argument, at least not without a fight. "You know him, maybe not on an intimate level, but well enough to know he's not violent."

"Violence is only an action," Lance pointed out, glancing her way. "Many factors contribute to that. I'm not a physiologist, but I've had enough patients to know that trauma and stress change who they are as people. Sometimes it is intentional, many times it is not. What I can tell you is that Mr. Sanders' display of…energy was about as aggressive as it becomes. On the fact that he is considered a criminal the full precaution is necessary."

"He has an entire cocktail of drugs running through his system. The last thing he needs are more drugs….the Las Vegas Crime Lab believes that he was held captive. How would restraining him under heavy sedation help calm him? Seems like to me it would make things worse."

"It is our responsibility here to maintain his physical state of wellbeing. Not his mental state. We cannot coddle any patient because of that factor, I'm sorry. After seventy-two hours he will be reassessed and if determined to be well enough to control his actions the restraints will be removed."

"You don't care enough about his mental state, but you feel that you are qualified to judge him mentally?"

The statement alone shocked her. Sara hadn't been expecting the man to be a best bud, but she had at least expected him to at least try to care.

"I've placed him under suicide watch; another protocol as many aggressive patients usually try to inflict self harm. A psychologist will be here to evaluate him. He or she will also spend a short counseling sessions with him, perhaps it will give him a first step towards recovery. Until then there is nothing that I can do."

"Nothing that you will do," Sara corrected him, shaking her head. "You expect him to be alone for the next three days, locked up and drugged to the point he can't even tell what's going on? How is that even humane?"

"The drugs will wear off soon enough; more will be given to him only if deemed appropriate for his own safety, but the restraints will remain on. Until then only immediate family will be allowed in the room starting in the morning. I want him to get his rest for the night."

"He will rest," Sara agreed, "but less if he's alone. I know him…not as well as I probably should…but he's probably scared right now. Isolating him isn't going to help him heal any faster. It causes…depression for starters. A lot more…I just can't think of them right now."

Lance let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Miss Sidle…if I give in now what else will I have to give in? The first hours are the most critical; we have our reasonings."

"And if he is sedated as heavily as you claim he won't notice the difference, will he?"

"If he won't notice the difference then the truth of the matter is that it really doesn't matter if there are visitors tonight, or in the morning."

"Maybe not now," Sara agreed. "But he will notice in the morning when he comes out of this drug induced haze and finds himself alone, trapped as another prisoner without knowing why."

The man rubbed his face, shaking his head as he muttered into his hands. "If we make a compromise, will you allow me to continue my work?"

Sara couldn't help but smile. She hadn't interfered with his work, so there was no reason for him to try an attempt to bribe her other than the fact that he wanted to help without making it seem as though he was going on a limb for her.

"What's the compromise?"

TBC