Many apologies for the frightfully long delay. I was sick and then swamped with homework; needless to say it was shameful and dastardly! Since I was a bad girl, I decided to give you all the ending in one lump. This will probably be my last long fic for a while as I unfortunately don't have the free time I'd like. I'm not done with Greggo, however, so be sure to tune in next for some extremely angsty one-shots featuring our favourite lab rat. Please tell me what you thought of the entire thing; it'll only help make the future Grangst even better. I know I had some trouble with what to include; I didn't want to make it too lengthy but there were some things I just had to write in. I'm all for the short and sweet stuff.
P.S. Props to anyone who knows where the title reference comes from :)
I do not own the characters of CSI, they are the sole property of CBS and its subsidiaries.
They sat in their own microcosms, waiting for Grissom to arrive yet caring little for what news he brought. He was informing Greg's parents, they'd been told. He'd be back soon, but they knew he had nothing to say. No new information had presented itself, and the evidence they held was yielding more questions than answers. They contemplated their next move in a helpless stupor.
Warrick glared at the floor intently, willing it to give him the answers he sought; yet fearing the very results such closure may bring. Images of Greg flashed through his mind and memories of Holly assaulted him, ignoring his feeble attempts at diversion. But this was so much more, Greg was so much more. Warrick rubbed his hands over his face wearily, then resumed tracing the tiles. No concrete evidence put Greg in a nebulous void ñ not firmly in the land of the living yet not technically beyond that final barrier. There he stayed, kept alive in their minds by uncertainty. As much as Warrick wanted to find Greg, he was paralyzed by dread of what they might find ñ blood and guts he could handle, but the image Warrick dreaded most was of Greg's empty face, eyes staring into nothing. Never again to smile at some secret joke, chuckle at Warrick, or grin like a madman at their attempts to find his secret stash of coffee. Warrick continued inspecting the tiles at his feet. Light shone dully on the cheap linoleum; his eyes traced around a corner, up one side and across the other. Their situation was deteriorating rapidly, and Warrick wanted desperately to be able to do something; ironically, action was his coping mechanism. He let out a self-deprecating sigh and pressed his thumbs into the bridge of his nose.
I hope Nick's doin' better than me, he thought.
Nick's eyes were closed. He struggled, still, to contain his emotions. His outburst earlier had only served to alienate him from his co-workers. He hoped he was making a decent showing now; hoped they didn't suspect how close he was to snapping. His body refused to obey him. Mind raced into jagged, threatening corners and tremors raced through his muscles, though he continuously willed them to relax. Part numbing exhaustion, part overwhelming apprehension, he grappled with the unseen forces playing in his body. Meanwhile, his thoughts raced on overtime.
He's dead by now, he thought.
But we have until midnight, responded a small but adamant voice.
Weakened hope still fluttered in his heart, but it was a flame starved for oxygen. His mind waged battle on itself. All he knew about science and all he believed about faith converged to render him immobile.
He won't survive much more torture, continued the relentless dialogue.
But we underestimate Greg, countered the flame.
"Here, Nicky."
A steaming mug wavered under his nose, its tantalizing aroma wafting through his fogged senses. He looked up to Catherine's sympathetic smile. She nudged the cup towards him once more and he gratefully clasped it in his hands. The heat warmed him and brought him momentarily back to reality.
Catherine walked back to her seat and slowly lowered her body into it. When she'd finally convinced Nick that she was calmed down, she had run to call Lindsay. She'd needed to hear her voice, to know that she was fine. Catherine let the overwhelming feelings of despair wash over her, then firmly nudged them back into their corner. There would be time enough to let them rule when Greg was back and safe. She could not afford to think anything else would happen. She wondered if he was thinking of them now.
He must be so lonely, she thought.
The knife was there again. For a while it had been the hand, the fist. Now the knife again slithered its way past his defenses to torment him.
"All right. Does anyone have anything new to report?" Grissom was all business when the exhausted team assembled for the third time that day. It felt like weeks had passed since they'd first learned of Greg's kidnapping, yet they knew he had been sitting in the break room, participating in their light banter, just ten hours ago.
"We got nothing," said Nick. "I rechecked all the evidence. Archie's been through all the traffic camera footage from around here and all it tells us is that he might drive any number of vans with tinted windows."
"That's not possible!" interrupted Catherine. "Evidence leads somewhere. There must be something we can do. Some test we can run, some angle we haven't tried. That man must have left some trace of himself on something he touched! Some trace of where he's been!"
"She's right," said Warrick. "That tape, that man, was inches from Greg."
"Oh yeah, trust you to agree with Cath," muttered Sara. "What we know doesn't help us if the evidence doesn't back it up!"
"Forget the evidence!"
The outburst cut through their squabbling; they stared, stunned at what Grissom of all people had just said.
"The evidence is all we have," said Sara, passing a tired hand over her eyes.
"We're missing something here," he replied firmly. "And it is clouding our judgment."
"Yeah," she affirmed, realization slowly dawning. "What are we missing?"
"The evidence is pointing us to...no one," said Nick, looking from Grissom to Sara in exasperation. "If y'all wouldn't be so cryptic, maybe we could all figure it out! "
"That's it! No one!" Grissom seized his jacket and darted out of the room.
"No one what? What are we missing?" yelled Nick at his retreating figure, startled lab techs poking their heads into the hallway.
Sara leapt up abruptly, Grissom's enigmatic message having sunk in. Eyes open excitedly, she grasped Nick's wrist and looked into his eyes.
"The human element," she said, staring at his face expectantly. When his look of confusion lingered, she waved her hand enthusiastically and trotted to catch up with Grissom at the elevators.
Nick turned to Warrick and Catherine, who shared his incredulous expression.
"That's it, guys. They've lost it."
They traveled in silence, lost in personal torments. Their initial exuberance having subsided upon entering the fateful parking complex, they were now left only with doubts and haunting inadequacies. Were their hunch faulty, Greg's fate would be all but sealed; as it stood, even if by some small chance they were correct, his future might have already been decided. All this flashed through their heads repeatedly as they rode through the lonely desert, the space separating them small but infinitely large. Caught between two unfortunate endings, they allowed adrenaline to overtake them, hoping its chemically induced optimism would keep their reservations at bay.
When they pulled into the prison, an eerie silence greeted them. They had forgotten how late it was. At thought of the ticking clock, they quickened their pace. Two hours 'till midnight. Time was contriving against them.
Their footsteps echoed through the halls as an irritated guard led them to a cramped interrogation room. Grissom's pulse quickened involuntarily at the prospect of imminent success ñ the only possible outcome of the situation as determined by his overburdened mind.
"Sara..."
She looked at him, eyes blazing with determination and a feral anger. She'd already decided what would happen to the man that had caused them and Greg such torment. Grissom decided he would be better off not asking. He hoped, at least, that it was far harsher than any punishment he'd managed to concoct.
"I need you to stay calm, no matter what happens here," he said.
"I'm calm. Just get it out of him," she replied. Sara was unsure herself if she was calm enough, but her need to find Greg alive overrode her cautionary instincts.
Grissom nodded. It was the most conviction he could hope to get in the situation.
"Bring him in," he said to the guard.
"Do you remember what I told you?"
Greg opened his eyes warily; having learned by now to respond quickly to the man's questions, he frantically searched for an answer but could think of nothing to say. Thankfully the man seemed to be in a pensive mood and did not strike immediately. Greg used the moment of respite to inhale as best he could, though his lungs screamed for mercy at each fiery intake. The air was musty but he forced himself to take another gulp, knowing his body needed it. As his mind regained clarity, he again focused on the man who'd become the centre of his universe. He rested easily on one leg, toying idly with the hunter's knife that had of late become his weapon of choice. He stared into Greg's eyes chillingly, expectantly. Finally Greg was forced to turn away from the probing gaze. There was something almost human in the black depths of his eyes, a humanity that for Greg was worse than any torture. He wanted to hate him, to cast him into the depths of history as a monster, an aberration; un-repentantly vile and evil and thus, unquestionable and un-empathetic. Yet here he was, wanting to know the man's motives.
"I used to be normal. You look at me with loathing. Would it surprise you to know that I once looked upon criminals in much the same way?"
Greg tried to ignore the words but they pierced his already weakened defenses and compelled him to listen. Here they were, finally, the answers he had suffered for. At least he would go to his grave knowing what he'd paid the price for.
The man's face swam uncomfortably close to his; the knife pricked Greg's abdomen and began its familiar journey. Freshly healed skin tore anew; he could not contain his groans of agony.
"Look at me Greg. Do you remember what I told you?"
Greg shook his head mutely, brain refusing to work, and cried out when the knife hovered dangerously close to his eye. He's gone insane, he thought hysterically. This is it. I'm going to die.
The man clutched Greg's chin and shook his head.
"You're not going to die yet, Greg. I promised you...You have until midnight. What did I tell you?"
Momentary bout of panic subdued, Greg struggled to think of an adequate answer. Hoping to keep the man occupied, he moistened his dry lips before finally letting out a weak croak.
"That I wouldn't survive this." The man's words had echoed in Greg's thoughts since they'd been delivered.
There was a feverish glint in the man's eyes. He looked hungrily at Greg; his face frightening in the near-darkness. The moonlight streamed through the small window high above, throwing deep shadows and casting the man's face in sharp relief.
"You and I, we are bound forever by what we have experienced here. My brother Samuel died for another's sins. And so we too shall die, together, for each others' sins. Do you understand now? Why I am not disturbed that midnight approaches? We'll walk out together, you and I."
Greg sat as still as he could, though his ragged breathing punctured the tense silence left by the man's words. Greg willed himself to be quieter.
My chance will come soon, he thought. Just be patient. He glanced up to the window illuminating his prison. Time was working against him. He shifted in his seat, hoping to alleviate the cramps accumulated from sitting still so long. A fresh wave of pain engulfed him and he bent against it, fighting back the tears. He knew not to break the silence. And then, too, were the words, which chilled him to the very bones. His skin crawled at the idea of stepping into the afterlife with the man ñ he wasn't sure whether dying was worse.
The man stalked the space around Greg with a restless energy. He seemed to be struggling internally. Finally he retreated out of Greg's line of sight. Suddenly, Greg was startled to find his limbs free. The man stepped forward as Greg toppled out of the chair stiffly. He lay on the ground, paralyzed and wracked by the horrific burning as blood rushed through veins scarred by disuse. He could see the man out of the corner of his eye; he was reaching for his back pocket.
"Before I lost my wife, my children, my job, everything I held dear. I would not kill. Now I kill. They taught me how. But Sam would have wanted it this way. He wouldn't have wanted me to kill a helpless man. Still..."
As he talked his words were punctuated by the purposeful clicks of bullets being loaded.
Greg closed his eyes. He was surprised at how easily he'd accepted his fate; still surprised every time he referred to his life in the past tense. He wondered if his friends were still trying to find him. He knew department policy, at least. There would be no miracle at midnight. A bitter smile played over his lips and he met the man's gaze calmly. At the very least he'd have his last stand.
"Yes, I can see you understand now," continued the man, meeting Greg's eyes. "You've accepted it. You...and I...will not survive this ordeal."
Gabriel Pelowzski ambled into the room, clad in the traditionally unflattering orange jumpsuit. He was not hardened like the other inmates; he seemed in fact quite innocent. Grissom appraised him silently while he sat down across the table.
"Mister Pelowzski. Have you been following the news today?" he began, not wanting to give all his cards away.
The third brother looked quite young, not more than 35, Grissom surmised. There was none of the coldness in his voice that punctuated Edward's demeanor. A faint hope flickered in Grissom.
Perhaps he will be co-operative, he thought. I can see why his brother wanted him saved. He reminds me of Greg.
"I heard some guy's been kidnapped. But you know how it is down here. Not many people care if a cop gets taken out," answered Gabriel easily.
Sara twitched involuntarily.
"He's not a cop, he's a CSI," she said threateningly.
Gabriel looked up at her unapologetically.
"I'm stuck here 'cause you guys couldn't do your jobs, so forgive me if I'm not the least bit sympathetic."
So much for co-operation, groaned Grissom inwardly.
"I'm sure you're aware, then, of your brother's demands."
"Yeah, I've heard. He's a bigger fool than you guys. He thinks life is all philosophical an' shit. Thinks he can work the system," said Gabriel, rolling his eyes. "He thinks you'll actually do something to save some kid's life."
"He's not some kid. He's a man. A man who is more respected and loved than you will ever be!"
Grissom was shocked at Sara's outburst. He stopped her from lunging at the inmate, who seemed almost as unperturbed by her semi-attack as the guard.
Gabriel leveled Grissom a penetrating look.
"But that won't happen, will it."
Grissom hesitated, then shook his head.
"Didn't think so. First thing you learn when you get here; don't get your hopes up. Start hoping for a miracle, you're liable to get a nice dose of reality. I don't think I have to tell you what that means in here, do I."
His eyes roved over Sara's body, making her shift uncomfortably to a position further behind Grissom.
As a means of taking control of the conversation, or perhaps to take Gabriel's eyes off Sara, Grissom made a split second decision that he hoped he wouldn't regret. In truth, something had been nagging at him since Edward's ultimatum had been delivered.
"The DA is not prepared to negotiate with kidnappers, especially convicted felons. However, your brother obviously had a reason for coming to the CSIs rather than the detectives. Am I correct in assuming you both feel you've been wrongly accused?"
Gabriel remained silent, but the recognizant flicker in his eyes betrayed him. He nodded curtly.
Sara hoped to herself that Grissom had a plan. She glanced for the fiftieth time at the clock hanging above the door. Its reflective face stared back, impassive as time itself. It knew nothing of their desperate battle to save Greg's life, and yet it was the enemy in the war; at least Sara had designated it so in her mind. For lack of a better vessel, she settled on the oblivious timekeeper - though Gabriel was rapidly becoming a viable option.
"I'm prepared to make a deal with you," continued Grissom. He hoped Sara had faith enough in him to stay silent. As it stood, he was barely sure himself of the outcome of his plan, sketchy as it was.
"Your department won't make a deal," said Gabriel flatly.
"I'm not making the deal on behalf of the department," said Grissom slowly, hesitantly. He studied Gabriel's reaction before plunging across the forbidden line. "If you help us locate Greg, I will personally reinvestigate your case."
Gabriel sneered, "And what makes you think I'd believe a cop?"
"I am not an officer, Gabriel. I am a scientist. And there is nothing I can do to prove my intentions, only to say; you have my word on it."
The suspense in the room was almost unbearable as Grissom delivered his potent words. Sara held her breath; she could almost see Gabriel's thought process. His hesitation was excruciating.
Grissom, too, held his breath. This was his last bargaining chip; without a success here he was lost, and with him was Greg's fate sealed. At long last, Gabriel shifted in his seat.
"All right, what do you want?"
Sara let out an explosive breath and interrupted Grissom, pressing forward eagerly.
"Where is your brother holding Greg?"
"Fuck, if you think it's gonna be like that then the deal's off. You think I know where the hell he is?" scoffed Gabriel.
Grissom shot Sara a reproachful glance and motioned for her to step back.
Keep it together, he mouthed.
Sara stepped back, steadying her breathing. The adrenaline rush she'd felt at such imminent triumph had taken her by surprise.
"I'm sure you don't know where he is. But maybe you know where he might be. Where would your brother go if he was under duress?"
"He doesn't go anywhere. Before he was busted you'd never find him away from his kids or work."
Exasperated, Grissom glanced at the clock. An hour 'till midnight. Its ticking hands taunted him. And yet, he felt there was something it was trying to communicate. Could time be the answer? All wounds heal with time. On a hunch, he pressed Gabriel.
"Is there anything you can remember from your childhood? A favourite memory?"
"I don't know."
"Think! This is your only chance," said Grissom, leaning in close to Gabriel and speaking with all the intensity of hours of desperation and frustration. "You might not know where he is, you might not know anything about this. But you know your brother and you...know...what he would do. Now where is he."
"Look, maybe...when we were kids, our dad would take us all, my brothers I mean, down to these abandoned army bunkers in the desert. Ed used to get a real kick out of them; we'd pretend to be like, guerrilla fighters hiding out and shit."
Grissom straightened and shot Sara a glance of triumph. She was already reaching for her phone.
"Where are they."
"On the 15 about two miles south of Erie - "
Dimly through the fog permeating his senses Greg could hear the sirens cut through chill air. From his position on the floor he could see the man flinch and turn to the door of his prison. Greg could almost feel the vibrations of feet pounding on stairs and the muffled thud of a fist banging on the metal door. His cheek pressed against the gravel floor; grit punctured the wounds on his face as he blinked away tears of frustration at not being able to move, to give any sign of life. His last chance was coming, he could sense it; and yet he was not ready. Greg floated in a dream world, the man blurring in and out of focus.
"This is LVPD! Open up! Edward Pelowszki, you're surrounded; open the door!" yelled a familiar but garbled voice.
Greg almost cried with relief, though that more lucid part of his brain was being overwhelmed by the manic visions. It was unreal, there was really no one there, and Greg was in fact going to die, cold and alone on the floor, crying for his friends. He'd imagined their arrival so many times while suffering through bouts of madness that he could barely reconcile his two realities coming together.
"This isn't working, Brass! He won't open the door, we have to get him out of there!" yelled Sara frantically, pounding on the door. "Greg! Greg! Can you hear me?"
"Sara, get out of the way!" shouted Brass as officers rushed down the stairs behind her.
"Let them do their jobs, Sara," murmured Grissom, though he too felt an immense urge to pound on the door as if to magically dissolve it. Sara turned wild eyes to the rest of the team, who stood with guns cocked, nervously staring the door down. They were all thinking the same thing. Please don't let him be dead.
"Go away," sounded through the door. "If you step through that door he's dead. I've got a gun on him. We will die together, here and now!" yelled the crazed voice.
Greg heard the conversation as though from a great distance. He felt the stirrings of his former resolution in the depths of his heart. A great anger welled up, obliterating all sense of pain or sanity, aimed at the world of torment he found himself in and at the man who so callously decided his fate. With a strangled groan Greg summoned all the strength left in his body; mustered as fuel all the anguish and fear that had kept him company through the long hours and gathered his torn body beneath him. With one great leap he hurled himself up, up at the man and the gun and screamed an unholy war-cry as torn ligaments and flesh ruptured anew, arms outstretched he met his fate.
The sound of the gunshot reverberated in his mind and his world exploded in blinding pain, shooting out from his chest in a storm of blood.
The gunshot rent the air around them; stunned, the frantic workers stood rooted to the spot before Sara's frightful shriek mobilized them.
"Greg! NO!" Sara screamed and flattened herself against the door, tears streaking her face as she slammed her palms into the door repeatedly.
I'm dying, thought Greg sluggishly as he fell through the air. The acrid smell seared his nose. Red mist fell around him; risking a glance downward he knew it came from the gaping wound in his chest. Flesh gasped for air as his heart contracted painfully, pressing against his ribcage in a desperate attempt to reverse the damage. His breath hissed out slowly and he toppled with the man. Pain retreated to second place as darkness came to claim him; he blinked the tears away wearily. Time slowed almost unbearably as he waited for the darkness to take him and a weak moan escaped his lips.
This is it, he thought.
But I don't want to die, he whispered, before the darkness wrapped itself around his ruined body tenderly and carried him away.
"We got it!" exclaimed an officer as the door clicked open.
Sara was first to break through into the room. The stench of dried blood hit her forcefully and she pressed a sleeve to her mouth to keep from vomiting. A nightmare swam before her eyes; she was no longer sure of what she was seeing as the euphoria of finding Greg clashed with the sight that confronted her. Time slowed as she was pushed aside by paramedics and she retreated to a corner, pressing her back against the wall and sobbing into her fist. Two figures lay sprawled on top of each other on the blood-soaked floor - Greg's blood? - she could not tell whose body was whose. The smell of fresh gunpowder pervaded the air; the blood, so much blood, pooled around them. Their faces were unrecognizable, congealed and dried mixed with freshly sprayed, rivulets working their way down to meet the ground.
The rest of the team burst in after the paramedics; to Sara it seemed an eternity of waiting as she fought with bouts of nausea. Their shocked faces betrayed the same emotions as she, huddled together they were unsure how to proceed as paramedics rushed to extricate the two bodies and find signs of life. The notion that after all Greg might not survive, that she may have witnessed his demise on the other side of a door, unable to help, descended and she finally lost it; turning to the wall she brought up the coffee she'd downed that day. A jumble of voices reached her, a cool hand touched her back and she instinctively knew it belonged to Grissom. She took strength from it and turned back to watch one of the bodies being loaded to a stretcher. She prayed it was Greg. Time returned to normal speed abruptly and the echoing left her ears; she now heard the medics' radio transmissions calling for admission to a hospital. They ran beside the stretcher.
"Is he all right?" yelled Grissom above the noise of the helicopter.
"He's in bad shape," shouted a paramedic over his shoulder. "The gun was right between them. The bullet went through the man's jaw and face but not before blasting a hole into this man's chest. With all the prior damage he sustained to the area, it'll be a miracle if he makes it."
Grissom turned to the team who stood still, shocked by the sobering news.
"Meet us at Desert Palms. I know Greg, and he won't give up like this, not this easily. He'll make it through."
With a nod in their direction Grissom climbed into the helicopter behind the last paramedic. The team followed the helicopter as it rose into the air carrying its precious cargo.
"Stay with me, Greg."