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1:00 A.M.
Jim Brass turned aside for what felt like the hundredth time that night and smothered a laugh. When Nick had called, Brass had rolled his eyes a bit, but given in readily, willing to do just about anything Greg might ask of him. It had turned out to be the most fun he'd had since his young friend had been attacked.
As he led the pair around the lab, pointing out different features and answering their always-insightful questions, he kept being ambushed by how much the younger half of the team reminded him of Greg. Seemingly endless energy radiated from the lithe young man, even at that late hour, and it appeared to renew the flagging get-up-and-go of anyone who passed close to the trio as they made their way, slowly but surely, around the lab. Blair's bottomless hoard of words and bounce also appeared to irritate his taller, older partner no end, but Brass saw straight through the façade to the deep affection Ellison obviously held for his partner.
"So... that's about it. I could take you over and show you our cop shop, but you've seen those a thousand times, probably."
"You'd be surprised. I mean, I've seen plenty of other stations besides ours, but they're all different. Every city has its own... style. I'm sure Vegas does something to distinguish itself. It may be subtle, but it'll be there if you look."
Brass stared, clearly in shock.
"That's the most I've heard you say all night."
Ellison grinned.
"Blair. FAQ number one."
" ' Does he ever talk? ' Also commonly phrased as ' Is your partner a mute?'. FAQ number two, Jim?"
" ' Why isn't the little guy on ADD meds? ' Oh, and there's the ever popular ' Is he on speed and where can I get some? '. That usually happens before they know we're cops."
All three men laughed.
"Yeah, it's funny. I just wish he'd cut out the "little" crack. I'm compact and aerodynamic, like a really good racing bike. I'm built to move fast."
"Yeah, maybe, but if you don't quit eating every time I do and eating the stuff I do, pretty soon you won't be able to outrun a three-legged cat."
"Hey, I burn it off, just like you!"
Brass let them see his enjoyment this time.
"You know, that's what Sanders says... but he can back it up. He scuba-dives, surfs and plays basketball and softball for the PD team."
Reminded of the reason they were there, Ellison sobered and subtly lowered his head. Brass frowned slightly in confusion. "What?"
"You know why Greg really arranged for this tour, don't you?"
"He thought you'd like seeing the lab, I guess... "
"And?"
"I can't be positive."
"Speak your mind anyway."
"A member of the grav... the overnight crew is MIA. She took off while Greg was still in the hospital. We can't find a trace of her... and man, we have tried."
"Any clue why she vanished?"
"Yeah... what happened to Greg got everybody focused on their pasts."
"Something about hers came up and she couldn't deal." Blair guessed. Brass studied him carefully before answering.
"We think so. She knew stuff... ways of coping you only teach yourself if somebody messed with you... deeply and more than once."
All three were silent for several seconds before Ellison spoke up, quietly.
"I wondered. Look, thanks for the tour. I'd love to get a look at your station before we leave, but right now we need to get back to the hotel and get some sleep."
"He sleeps?" Brass joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Blair responded with a grin.
"After saving his butt all day? If I didn't sleep, I'd croak in a week's time."
"My butt? You save my butt?"
"Who threw you to the ground so you wouldn't get flattened by a garbage truck?"
"As if you'd ever let me forget..."
"You want more examples? I've got a whole scrap-book full at home..."
As the pair walked away, Brass chuckled once more then moved off as well, certain there was work currently piling up that someone thought he needed to get to urgently.
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GREG'S APARTMENT: 9:30 A.M.
While he waited for his turn in the shower, Nick finished the breakfast dishes and let his thoughts wander. He briefly pondered what his housemate was up to arranging a tour of the lab for Sandburg and Ellison, but Blair's surname echoing in his mind led his thoughts in another direction. A few minutes later he was still following that mental pathway when Greg touched him gently on the shoulder, startling him.
"Sorry."
"No... no, it's okay. My brain was just off roamin' somewhere, I guess. Did you need somethin'?"
"Not really. Just wondering if I... could help."
"Thanks for the thought, Greggo, but I'm about done. Why don't you go watch some TV for a while. That program you like about the ASPCA cops should be just about to start..."
Nick broke off when a knock sounded. Sadly, he watched Greg move past him and into his protected space in the corner of the kitchen then laid down his dish-cloth and strode to the door.
"Rick? Hey, lemme help you with that, man... It's heavy. What the hell've you got in here..."
"You'll see in a minute. Greg? Where is he?"
"I gotta get the door closed and locked before he feels safe." Nick explained quietly. Once that was done, Greg emerged, staring curiously at the broad, oblong, leather cased object in Nick's arms and the folded metal stand that remained with Warrick.
"What's going on?"
"I'll tell you... if you swear you won't get ticked at Nicky." Warrick said cautiously, leaning the stand against the wall.
"Why would I?" Greg replied, looking from one to the other and back.
"He told me about your hands... how they got bruised an' all."
Greg looked surprised for a moment, but no anger surfaced.
"It's okay I guess. You guys know a lot more... nasty details than that, so it's... not that big a deal."
"Yeah, well, when I heard I went and dug in my closet. I've had this in there for a while, but since I had the bread to buy a little piano of my own, I haven't used it..." he told them, taking the case from Nick and releasing the Velcro straps holding it closed. He pulled out a small electric keyboard. Greg's eyes widened and he slowly moved close enough to lightly run his fingers over the keys.
"I don't understand."
"It's for you. I'm gonna teach you how to play."
"You are?"
"Best physical therapy for the hands I know of. Plus, it's fun. Least with me as a teacher it will be."
"Warrick... man, I don't know what to say. Are you sure you wanna... do this?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Now... where's the nearest outlet?"
Nick showed him and within fifteen minutes, and with the assistance of an extension cord, the instrument was on the coffee table, Greg and Warrick were settled on the couch and Nick had gone back to his dishes. He didn't stay away long however. The music and the joy in Greg's voice, even when he fumbled over notes, drew Nick back in to claim the recliner and watch.
The gentleness Warrick showed the younger man made Nick smile as well. He had always sensed it was in there somewhere, but it took extraordinary circumstances to get the stoic man to allow it to surface. Apparently, Greg qualified as extraordinary.
"Is it okay if I move your fingers a little? Just so you get what I'm tryin' to show you..."
"Yeah... yeah, it's okay."
"I'll be easy, I promise." Warrick vowed, tenderly nudging Greg's fingers from flat to curved. "There. See the difference?"
"Uh-huh. I feel it too. It... feels right, now. It didn't before."
"Good. Now try the C scale one more time. Slow, remember. Don't think about it too much... just let it flow."
First up the scale, then back down, each note came out clear and strong this time and Greg grinned.
"I did it!"
"Sure you did. Now do it again." Warrick instructed, smiling to soften the admonishment.
For the next half hour, the two men hunched over the keyboard, gradually building up Greg's speed. When he caught the young man suppressing a wince of pain, Warrick declared the lesson at an end.
"But... I'm doing good."
"You're doin' great, but you're hurtin' too. That's enough for now."
"Haven't you ever heard of... playing through the pain?" Greg rationalized. Both Warrick and Nick laughed.
"That's the NFL, not music lessons, bud." Stokes reminded him.
"I'll be back in a few days, okay? 'Till then you do those stretching exercises I showed you, but not more than five minutes at a time. And no more than fifteen minutes practice a day, at least 'till those hands are really healed. Got me?" Warrick instructed, adding a mock glare to his commands. Greg returned the pseudo-serious expression and saluted.
"Understood, sir."
As Greg and Nick got the keyboard unplugged and back in its case, Warrick grabbed the stand and placed it by the couch. As he slipped his jacket back on, a weight in the pocket reminded him of another delivery he'd been asked to make.
"Nick. Brass asked me to drop these off for you." he said, handing two CD cases to his friend.
"Josh Groban. Cool. I thought he'd just let me borrow the originals, but he actually burned me copies. Awesome."
"I didn't think you were into that genre. Aren't you a faithful C and W fan?"
"I still am, but hearin' that one song Brass put on Greggo's CD... I couldn't get over how powerful Groban's voice is. He hooked me. I had to hear more."
"That's cool. Hey. Lemme know if the rest of his stuff is as amazing as ' You Raise Me Up '. That's the only one I've heard."
"No problem. I'll call once I've had a chance to give 'em a listen."
"Okay. Greg. You remember what I said and keep to it. I'll be checking on you an' I'll know if you've been overdoin' it. Bye, Nicky."
"Bye."
"Wait." Greg said as Warrick turned to leave. "Aren't you taking the keyboard?"
"I said it's yours an' I meant that. It's a gift, man."
"Mine? Really?"
"How else are you supposed to practice?" Warrick reminded him with a slight grin.
"Oh... oh yeah. Right. Thanks... for everything."
Don't be thankin' me yet. I expect dedication an' hard work outta you, especially after those hands are back in shape. You learn fast, you got good bone structure an' you might have some natural talent."
"When can we start learning classical?"
"Like what?"
"Beethoven."
"Slow down. You only had one lesson. Beethoven is some of the hardest music there is. You can get there in a year, maybe ten months if you've got the potential I think you do. Why the interest in him anyway?"
"I read his life story not too... long ago and there's a lot in there... that reminded me of Grissom. I started wondering what more Beethoven... could have done if they'd... been able to offer him the surgery... that bossman got."
Warrick stood staring at Greg, rapidly going over in his head what little he knew of Beethoven's life and he began to see the same correlations.
"My God... he may be right."
Nick chuckled.
"Chalk another one up to the highly underestimated Greg Sanders. You better get to your safe place, bro, so I can let Rick out."
Greg rose and moved off as Nick escorted a still stunned Warrick to the door.
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TBC...