Author's Note: So I had a funny little snafu today. In editing my new one shot "Defying the Devil" I accidentally posted this chapter. So some of you, if you saw that story within the hour period I neglected to fix it, may have already read this chapter. LOL!

Yay, we're almost to one of my favorite parts! Next chapter. OK, so folks, you may not have noticed, but this story his laced with subtle foreshadowing in earlier chapters, and in this chapter, and in later chapters. So... be thinking on your feet, you may be able to predict what's going to happen next. Probably not though. It's REALLY subtle.

Chapter Ten: The Other Dr. Evans

Greg looked at the name on the card, then up at the person sitting across from him in an arm chair, peering at him expectantly over the rims of his square glasses.

"Dr. Evans…" he began.

"Please, call me John," the doctor replied.

Greg's bottom lip contorted into a thoughtful frown before he accepted this. "John, I've never… done this sort of thing before."

"Then let's start with why you're here," John said, leaning back in his chair and eying Greg with deep brown eyes.

"Your wife," Greg returned.

He laughed. "I know she recommended you," John said. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"

"You know you two wear the same kind of glasses?" Greg asked. "It's kind of romantic. Or something. I don't really know, it's weird."

John reached up and took off his glasses. "If you want, I don't have to wear them. They're just reading glasses, and I'm not taking any notes."

"Whatever's good for you," Greg replied. "I don't really care, I was just making an observation…" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't like this."

"Few people do," John admitted. "Coming in here, telling a perfect stranger things you're afraid to tell your friends and family… But then, sometimes a stranger is exactly what we need, isn't it, Greg? Someone whose judgment doesn't really matter to us."

"Did Dr. Evans…" Greg began, then frowned again, "I mean, your wife, did she tell you… what's wrong with me?"

John looked conflicted. "I think that's a poor choice of words, Greg, I don't think anything is necessarily wrong with you—"

"Did she tell you what happened to me?" Greg clarified.

Slowly, John nodded. "Riza did mention a… sexual attack of some sort…"

"Right," Greg said. "So I don't really need to tell you much, do I?"

To Greg's surprise, John laughed. "Is that all there is to know about you?" he asked. "I bet there's a whole life story beyond that one night, Greg. I bet you've had birthdays, graduations, maybe weddings… That's not all there is to you, is there? You have a novel to dictate to me, Greg. You're the writer. Think of me as the English professor who interprets your work of art."

"I don't think I want anyone interpreting me," Greg said, nervously.

John nodded. "Maybe 'interpret' was too strong of a word. What I meant was… I can help you be yourself again. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"How do you know what I want?" Greg asked suspiciously.

"I don't," John admitted. "Not unless you tell me. We still haven't gotten around to why you're here."

"I'm here because of what happened to me," Greg replied.

"No you're not," John said. "I mean, of course, that's the underlying cause, but something made you come here today. Riza only recommended me, she didn't prescribe me like a medicine. You didn't have to come."

"It's my friends," Greg explained, almost reluctantly. "They aren't… the same."

"What you went through can be a very life-altering experience, Greg," John said.

"But it's not me, it's them," Greg insisted. "Or… or maybe it's me… I don't really know anymore…" He trailed off, then looked at John, and wanted desperately to tell him he wasn't always like this. "I used to be… better. More naïve, I guess, I don't know. They say ignorance is bliss, and let me tell you from experience, that it is heaven, but you don't even know it, because, well, you're ignorant. My job… I used to work in a lab all day, and it gave me the freedom to be whoever I wanted because it was my lab. I was God in that lab. I could play whatever music I wanted at whatever volume, slack off while waiting for results, make long-distance calls on the government's dime… It was like a kid in a playpen, you know? So long as I had my toys, I didn't care about anything else. But then the world just got so… small. I was watching the others come in and out, sometimes covered in dirt or sweat or worse, and I couldn't help but think what adventures they were having out there in the big wide world, in the world that didn't smell like ammonia, where you actually saw the crime scenes, where you actually helped people…"

He shook his head. "But I was too idealistic. Because you don't help people. You can't, really, because they're dead, I mean. You avenge them, though. You make sure whoever hurt them goes down, and big time. But you can't right the wrong that was done to them with that. Dead people tend to stay that way. And…" He was nervous. "And I was just wondering if it's kind of the same with me," he said, as if this question had been on his mind for weeks. "I was just wondering if… if it's like this with girls, and if… If justice really matters because… Because honestly, I don't care if they catch him or not, and I don't know why. So what I'm asking, Dr. Evans— John— what I'm asking is… Will I stay dead?"

John was absolutely impossible to read but he looked thoughtful. "It's different for every person, Greg," he said. "But inevitably, I think that decision is up to you."

"I was afraid of that," Greg said, looking away.

"Don't underestimate yourself, Greg," John told him. "Coming here, for example, was a big step."

Greg was shaking his head. "I don't… want to be this person…" he said. "I'm angry all the time, and I'm constantly sleep deprived, and I take it out on Sara and I know she just wants to help, but…" He sighed. "I want to go back," he said. "To the lab. But I mean… I don't. Because I like being a CSI, but I just…" He rubbed his arms, hugging himself tightly. This was intensely awkward. He felt so many things. Strange, unsure of himself, humiliated, emasculated and utterly lost. "I just want to feel… safe," he admitted at last. It was the first time he had said the words aloud, even to himself.

John nodded. "I'm sure you do, Greg," he said. "Many people who have gone through what you went through—"

"You're a psychiatrist," Greg interrupted. "So I'm guessing you deal with women in my position all the time. Do you get any guys?"

John hesitated. "To be honest, you are my first…" he said slowly. "But that doesn't mean you're the only one, Greg."

"I know," he said with a sigh. But it didn't stop him from feeling any less isolated. "So when you talk to these girls, you tell them… what?"

"That they should get an activity," John said. "Something they have never done before, something brand new, maybe pick up a sport like handball or hiking, something physically exerting is the best thing. And then I tell them to master it. Because it becomes something they enjoy, and something they can escape to, and it's also something they've conquered. It empowers them."

"You want to empower me," Greg noted.

"How are you feeling right now?" John asked.

"Not empowered," Greg returned.

John smiled. "You always so sarcastic?"

"Mm," Greg muttered. "Not really. It's sort of a mix between the old me and the new me. My attempt at making my bitterness comical. The result is sarcasm."

"You're very astute, you know," John said.

"Lately, I've just had myself for company," Greg replied with a shrug. "It gives you a lot to think about." He paused. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"If you want," John said, leaning back in his chair.

"Have you ever thought…" Greg paused. "I mean, about… if it could happen to you?"

John blinked at him. "No, not really, to be honest," he said.

Greg looked down at his knees. "Me neither," he said. "I mean, before, I never thought it was a threat. I thought… You know, if an assailant attacked, I'd fight, I'd kick his ass, I mean, I'm armed, I'm trained, I'm…" He licked his chapped lips. "Last year I was attacked too," he said. "It was different though. There were… a lot of them, and they were everywhere, I couldn't anticipate… That was bad enough, but when he pushed me to the ground, and when he started…"

He only realized that he was describing it when his heart leapt up into his throat, as if protesting the telling of his story. It made him stop. John waited a moment.

"You know, Greg," John said after a while. "I encourage you to talk about it eventually. Up until now, you've avoided describing the actual event. You've even avoided naming it. I think this is a good step. But Rome wasn't built in a day. If you don't want to talk about it yet, we can wait. Take your time."

Greg looked up, almost surprised. Talking to John was different from talking to his friends. If he had began describing what happened to him to Grissom or Sara, they would have snapped to attention immediately and pushed him to go on, eager to know, eager to understand what the problem was because then they could fix it. But Greg felt it wasn't their problem to fix. It was his. And John seemed to see that too.

It wasn't that Grissom and Sara didn't respect his wishes not to talk about it, because other than the hospital, neither of them had asked him any questions about it at all. Then again, he hadn't spoken to Grissom about anything since the hospital. And while Sara had been nothing but gentle to him, he still felt a sort of estrangement from her. And yet, here was this perfect stranger, and for no reason he could think of he was spilling his guts to him.

He wondered how long this new honesty would last. So it was more out of curiosity than an actual want to continue that he did. He had opened the floodgates after all. "When he pushed me… down…" Greg continued slowly, as if swimming against molasses. "His boot was on my back. Now if he hadn't torn up my shirt we might have gotten a fairly good print from his boot, but as the case was… he did. And I was struggling, but he was just… too strong and he had knocked the wind out of me when he pushed me down, so I couldn't breathe right, and then he tied my hands, and he gagged me and he… reached for the hem of my jeans…" Greg tensed, the event flashing back to him, but he forced it away. "I can't do this," he said at last, shaking his head.

"That's OK," John said. "You don't have to right now."

"I've never… told anyone…"

"Then we've made major progress today," John said with a smile. He looked at his watch and seemed genuinely disappointed. "Dammit. It's already two o'clock." He looked up at Greg. "I would love to discuss this at length with you, Greg, I think you could benefit from it, but as it is I have an appointment and—"

"Save the false sympathy," Greg said with a weak smile as he rose to his feet. "I get it, this is a business. Not a problem, I'm not offended."

He made for the door. "I meant to tell you…" John said slowly, making Greg turn to look at him. "Riza asked me something."

"What is it?"

"To do this as a favor to her," he replied. "If you came in to see me, that is."

Greg frowned. "What's that mean?"

"It means you won't be charged," John replied. "It's pro bono."

Greg laughed. "No. Dr. Evans is a great person, but I can't allow her to—"

"Your insurance won't cover it," John explained. "Riza checked when she was going over your information."

Greg didn't believe that. "That's ridiculous, this is technically a job related injury, my insurance should—"

Dr. Evans was shaking his head. "Your job insurance plan is bad," he said. "Lucky for you, Riza has taken a shine to you. She seems to be very invested in your health. She wants you to get better. I'm not sure why. But if it means that much to Riza, then it means that much to me." He smiled, and Greg knew it to be a smile of genuine good will.

"You must love her a lot," Greg said. "I'm such a nutcase, you could have put your kids through college with me alone."

Dr. Evans laughed. "Maybe," he said. "But it'll make Riza happy to know you're doing OK."

"And that's all you care about?" Greg asked.

"That's all I care about."

Greg rolled his eyes. "You guys are too much," he said before leaving swiftly.

John grinned.

The weeks went on and almost nothing changed. Sara and Grissom were at a dead end. They had processed all their evidence and followed all their leads. At first, they had refused to give up on Harold Schwartz and called him and his brother in for questioning again. A criminal psychologist was brought in to determine whether or not Harold was capable of the crimes he was being accused of, but inevitably the psychologist had explained that it was impossible. Harold's thoughts were too scattered, and showed signs of paranoia. More than that, he believed that Bonnie was still alive and just ignoring him, because she was never online anymore to talk to him. No matter how many times someone tried to tell him that Bonnie was dead, he would refuse to believe it and call them a liar. And then he would forget about the conversation altogether and just ask where Bonnie was again.

"I've never seen heroin do this much damage to a person," the psychologist had said to Brass. "My guess is there was an underlying personality disorder before the drugs that was only exacerbated by it, to the point where it's impossible to distinguish the original problem from the ones brought on by the drugs. He also admits to mixing, and using unknown substances, which can do a world of unknown damage to the brain. The crimes are far too meticulous to have been executed by him."

Their evidence was at a standstill. While Harold's hair sample had visually matched the one collected from Greg's vest, with no DNA evidence to compare him to, it wasn't solid enough evidence. The DA insisted on something more if they wanted a conviction because at the moment everything was purely circumstantial and that would get nowhere in court. So as much as Sara and Hodges both tried, examining and reexamining the evidence, neither of them could come up with anything more than they already had. They had exhausted their resources and their only suspect had an alibi, not to mention a sanctioned psychologist claiming he was unfit to commit those crimes.

So Grissom had reluctantly put Sara on another case for the time being, hoping that maybe if they just let the case rest for a while, something would jump out at them later.

But as the weeks went on, nothing did. And after six weeks since his last attack, Sara wondered if he would ever rape and kill again. A part of her dreaded the thought of another body, and another part of her almost wanted it, so maybe they would have more evidence. But for the most part, she was glad that the killer had apparently retreated back into obscurity and everyday she dwelled on it less and less.

Greg was making little progress, though he admitted to Sara that he was seeing the psychiatrist recommended to him by Dr. Evans. He been working for about a week and was doing rather well. He was walking alright again, and the scar on his neck was still visible, but fading. Healing.

Nick, Warrick and Catherine, to the best of Sara's knowledge, had dropped the issue and ignored it completely, though none of them were on very good terms with the rest of the CSI graveyard shift. Sara saw the worried glances Catherine would cast Greg's way every once in a while, but she never approached him, or discussed much with him that wasn't small talk. Sara sometimes overheard her arguing with Grissom, hinting that she had guessed what had really happened, but never outright saying it, and Sara wondered if she was baiting Grissom. Sara doubted Catherine really knew. She was only pretending to know so Grissom would tell her. Or at least, that's what Sara told herself. She'd rather Catherine hadn't guessed, although she felt it was almost underestimating her. Catherine was clever, and Catherine was maternal, and the lab was her second home, this team her second family, but just as important as her first family. She detected inherently that something was very wrong with Greg. Perhaps she had put it together after all.

Warrick was civil to everyone, but nothing more. He treated Greg a little better than the rest of them though, and once he had even outright told Sara what was on his mind, albeit reluctantly.

"What happened to Greg…" Sara never liked that beginning because it meant she would have to lie. "Was it anything to do with what happened to the two other victims? How they were… you know."

Sara had simply told him that she couldn't discuss the case with him and left the room as quickly as possible.

Nick was very cold towards Greg, but almost reluctantly so. He badly wanted to know what had really happened that night and, God bless him, he seemed to be the only one whose mind hadn't even contemplated the truth. Still, he seemed angry with Greg, and concerned for him simultaneously. Sometimes, he would treat Greg like he always had, playfully teasing him, joking around and such, in hopes of maybe regaining his confidence or bringing a smile to his face.

But Greg wasn't talking to any of them. Ever since she had taken his hand in the lounge, he seemed to grow even more distant to her. But he did his job efficiently and effectively. And he still made jokes that made her smile. But if she wanted to tell him how the case was going (or how it wasn't going), he would always change the subject. "No more serious conversations," he had told her. So she had agreed.

And so it was that everyone pretended that nothing was wrong.

And Sara wondered if they would ever really be a family again.

But she never voiced these thoughts.