Thanks goes out to those who reviewed, and to Kegel for betaing. Sorry for the long wait, a bit of a longer chapter to make up for it.

Chapter Eleven: Moving Forward

He wasn't sure why it had taken him so long to come. Part of it he liked to believe was due to the fact they were more strangers than friends. After all, Greg wasn't the first person he would call on a poker night; but that didn't mean he didn't care. That alone was difficult to explain. Warrick had been running it through his head for most of the night, trying to find a way to explain it in simple terms. They weren't buddies, they weren't pals; their wants and interests varying too greatly, halting the motion that could bring them closer together as friends.

Yet simply because they were not friends did not mean he didn't feel for the man. Warrick felt an icy chill that worked its way through his body, the same chill that had been there for the last passing days. Too nervous to eat and sleep it had left him physically drained. He knew the reason why it was so hard for him; any feelings of his own were mimicked in the eyes of the others, only stronger in nature. The entire team was beginning to drift apart.

It could be felt rather than seen; Sara had pulled away from work almost all together. First it had been the case. He understood her reasoning behind that. Emotional as she was it was obvious for anyone to see that she wanted only to comfort him. Other work that was assigned to her was done with little interest, and sometimes not at all. More than once he already covered for her, wanting to spare her from Ecklie's wrath.

The man himself had been on a warpath as of late. Anger from the pressure caused by the media, he scrutinized every aspect of work that was done involving Greg's case. Every thread, every fiber, every silent confession was taken into account and reworked, sometimes three or four times. The process was draining, serving for irritability not only from the investigators, but the lab techs as well. This led to more pressure from the public, demanding justice for their lost husband, or the storekeepers wanting to know who the thieves were that had stole away with the beer.

Nick had been back and forth between emotions. At times he was calm and collected, much like the Texan Warrick knew. Other times, it seemed as though he couldn't even breathe without breaking into a fit of rage or tears. Comments full of harsh and vile words that Warrick was astounded to know the man even knew would often fly from the other man's lips. The same with silent vows that whoever responsible would pay. To Warrick, he had never seen Nick so enraged before.

For Catherine it was difficult to tell. Ever since his marriage she had pulled away, something he both welcomed and regretted. Any feelings between them would never blossom in a positive way; it was a favor they had gone separate ways. Still he missed seeing her, missed being with her. She distanced herself at work naturally, but the times he did manage a glimpse it was clear she was worn and run down, bouncing between cases to help keep up with growing workload.

Grissom was the least changed. The man was as he always was, quiet and reserved, letting only short moments of irritation show through before they disappeared under a surface of murky waters that hid his inner self. There was more to that man than met the eye, Warrick knew. So much that he trusted the scientist to figure things out. To figure out what had happened, and more importantly why it had happened.

He trusted him; trusted him because he didn't trust himself. The fate that laid in wait for Greg was grim; it hardly mattered what way he went, for it seemed to be the lesser of two evils that would become him. Either the beckoning of a cold and bare jail cell awaited him, or a shallow life that would see him wandering about as a blind man. Could he function after all that had happened? How could anyone disappear for such a time, and fully recover?

As grim as they were, Warrick had no control over his thoughts. They ran amok like wild animals, filling the spaces in his brain with one scenario after another, each new one passing being worse than the last. That was where he found himself, at the door of the room that led to where the other man lay. He already had company, his mother as well as Sara. Neither of them being there was a surprise, he reasoned.

They were talking, but whatever words they said held no meaning for him. The wild ideas still clouded his mind even as he gazed in. Sara saw him first, a smile crossing her face as she moved to her feet. As she approached he backed away, giving her space to leave the room.

"You look like you're ready for your own bed."

Her teasing voice caught his attention, stirring curiosity inside of him. Time had passed since he had last heard anything that was in the form of a jest. Warrick tore his gaze from the room, looking to the woman that stood in front of him. "How is he?"

There was a sigh, and then a shrug of her shoulders as her face set into a taunt grimace. "Better…physically a lot better."

"That's…good," he reasoned with a nod, forcing out a heavy breath.

"Hydration, vitamins, some food substance…his body is recovering. He'll talk…at times, but it happens in spurts. Doctors say he'll be ready to leave soon."

Warrick took another long look at the figure inside. While there was color in his cheeks it was faint, his knees drawn up to his chest as he rested on one side. Greg's mother was still sitting tentatively by his side, no doubt in the same manner she had assumed since first coming here. As of now it appeared that the man would not be able to hold his own here. How would he do away from here?

"Where will he stay?"

The thought had just come to him. Greg's apartment, of course, had been packed up and leased to new tenants long ago. Until now it hadn't been an issue, between the man being in custody followed by the hospital he always held a place of residence. Obviously no one would abandon him on the street corner, but Warrick hadn't heard of any arrangements being made.

"Greg will stay with his parents the first few days in the hotel they have. They lose the room at the end of the week, and then they will stay with his grandparents ."

"Greg can't leave city limits," Warrick reminded her, knowing that Greg's grandparents were well out of the city of Vegas.

But she was nodding. "I know. He'll stay with me after that."

"You? You only have a one bedroom apartment."

Again she was nodding, a smile creeping over her face as though she had a secret that was only known to her. Silently she glanced back in the room, the smile lingering before she turned back to him. "Nick has a spare room, but when we talked it over we both decided that Greg would be better off if he stayed with me."

Inside he felt a twinge of guilt. It stemmed from the fact that the others were obviously doing more than he was to comfort the man that had once been a part of their team. It made him cringe, wondering what the others thought of him, his aptitude for avoidance shining clearly like a light in the darkness. What could he do to prove he was in this together with them?

Warrick found himself clearing his throat, his words stuttering as he tried to think of something to say. The words were running through his head, his mind finally processing what she had said. "Why you?"

Out of everyone it could be said that Nick and Greg were the closest of friends. No insult to Sara was meant, but she was a friend to everyone. Someone you knew as an acquaintance, a co-worker. Someone you would feel comfortable grabbing coffee with. She wasn't someone you would think of as being a roommate.

"We both know that Greg's captor was male…being alone in another house with anyone…" she let her sentence trail off, her gaze meeting his as if pleading he understand without her finishing.

"Nick wouldn't hurt Greg."

It was obvious what she was implying, and it set him off. Nick was a close friend, someone he had counted on time and time again. The man had his faults, as did everyone, but causing harm to anyone let alone Greg was ridiculous. It was almost infuriating that Sara would even suggest it.

"We know that," she was agreeing with him however.

Maybe she had seen the change in his demeanor. Warrick let out a sigh, crossing his arms, waiting for her to continue. Sara had paused long enough to gather another deep breath.

"Nick and I agreed that Greg would feel more comfortable, being with someone he felt he could overpower."

"You think he's really violent?"

There was no secret to the incident that had happened only days prior. It had flown about the lab quicker than any round of gossip, and was the leading conversation in every room. Warrick had chosen to believe that it was just a freak accident, that something had startled the man and pushed him into a panic. It had happened to victims before, and adrenaline could do some serious damage. Yet Sara talked about it as though it was a common occurrence, and that she even suspected it to happen again.

"He can't overpower me," she dropped her voice in a whisper, pulling him from the door.

Warrick followed without any reason as to why. Last he had seen, Greg wasn't paying any heed in their direction. Whatever Sara wanted to say was obviously something she wanted kept as a secret.

"He's not strong enough; he barely has the strength to walk right now. The doctor says it will take another few days or even weeks before he does. He was so deprived of everything his body is expending all the energy he has just trying to keep up. I'm in no danger."

"But you think he can be dangerous?"

She hesitated, a frown settling on her face. A moment passed then she shook her head, following with a shrug of her shoulder. "Not intentionally."

"But he can be."

"So what is your answer?" she wondered, accosting him now. "Lock him up, throw away the key? Just forget about him, he's a lost cause? Everyone makes mistakes, Warrick, but Greg needs us now more than ever."

"I wasn't saying that," he shook his head. It wasn't what he meant, but he knew it was how it sounded. It set in deeper his fears that the others thought of him simply as a cold-hearted beast. As someone who did not care. He did care…he just didn't know how to express it.

Again he took a breath, gathering his thoughts in a manner that wouldn't seem hostile when he presented it. "I just don't want you hurt."

"I won't be," she was quick to remind him. "I've taken down suspects twice my size without a weapon. I can handle Greg…I could have handled him before as well. I won't have any problems if something does happen."

He knew it as well; Sara often had the look of innocence, of someone who had no idea of what was going on or how to take care of herself. Yet she was anything but; at time she had made some of the most vile suspects sweat under her questioning glare without even speaking a single word. It meant there was only one thing to do.

Warrick forced a smile, knowing it was grim but hoping it spoke volumes that all between them was well. He didn't want Sara to think they held anything ill between their opinions; what was done was done and he knew that convincing her or Nick to change their minds was something that was inconceivable.

"I don't think there will be any problems."

October 21st, 2007

11:30 am

"So, what do you remember?"

She had been dreading that question all day. For a while there was hope no one would ask, with everyone holding their tongue and the drive being silent. But now they were in open air, the sun glowing in the sky and already warming the ground beneath to sultry temperature. It wasn't as bad as the summer heat, but it could still be unbearable and unforgiving. Catherine took the lead as they moved through the crowded sidewalk, more tourists here now than there were during the warmer months.

"You're avoiding the question."

Maybe she was; Catherine wouldn't deny that she wasn't. She simply had other things on her mind. Mostly it was on finding ways to not answer the question. Who could blame her though? It wasn't as though she had purposely drunk herself into a stupor a few nights before. Work had been stressful, the required convention was even worse. All she had wanted to do was relax and loosen her tense muscles. Was it her fault she had gone overboard before the evening wore itself down?

"Tell me," she finally spoke as she glanced towards him. "What do you remember?"

Nick's smile was broad and wide, the one that usually accompanied his face whenever something amused him so. He moved to speak, but failed as another man accosted him, blocking his path and pressing a pamphlet into his waiting hands. It was amusing to hear the Texan attempt to decline the offer, yet the other man was not letting up. Catherine smirked as Nick finally took the pamphlet, pushing his way past and through the crowd to catch up with the waiting blonde.

"Why does everyone assume we're a married couple?" Nick scoffed as he flashed the paper her way. "Or that we are in need of personal entertainment?"

The picture of the young woman posing nearly nude on the front made her smile; it was a memory of times that had already come and gone. Catherine had once been in that position, needing money to help fund her way through school. Exotic dancing was invigorating, but more importantly it paid wonderfully. Yet dancing was all she did; she had drawn the line on personal house calls. More and more woman, however, found the extra mile to be incredible pleasing, in both a financial and emotional sense.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Nick glared at her as he shoved the pamphlet into his back pocket, avoiding the necessary litter with the lack of garbage cans nearby. "You are still avoiding my question; don't be changing the topic."

"I remember the dinner," she told him wryly, grinning in response at his own smile.

"That was fairly early in the evening…"

"I didn't say that was all," she was quick to cut him off. Catherine would hate to admit that she was fully enjoying this. "I remember the speeches."

"What ones?" he questioned, "I know you were gone by the time Grissom did his."

"Grissom did a speech?"

That alone surprised her. The man was not a people person; he avoided gatherings such as the one that took place a few nights before. Even more, he avoided the speeches, taking the first reasonable excuse he could find to escape. The year before he had left mumbling something about his cockroach having a fever.

"Ecklie said if he didn't do the speech this year then all of us would be suffering from it. Warrick and I were able to convince him to go through with it."

"You wrote his speech," she commented dryly.

"Had to," Nick shrugged his shoulders, "you were laughing too hard to even concentrate."

Catherine pursed her lips as she came to a stop before the crosswalk. She disliked the notion that Nick was referring to her as a happy drunk, but then again he wasn't the first one to approach her with this matter. Apparently she was the talk of the lab; everyone enjoyed her ordeal save for herself. The headache and flu-like symptoms she had to nurse the following day were anything but pleasant.

"At least you didn't make a complete fool of yourself," he was quick to reassure her which nearly brought a laugh from her lips. A complete fool…

"I'm better off not knowing, and pretending nothing happened," she sheltered her eyes from the sun with her hand, peering ahead of her. "There's another one up here."

They had spent the better part of the morning roaming the Strip and surrounding areas, stopping by several of the smaller shops that catered to tourists in search of a quick drink or snack. This would mark their sixth one, and Catherine paused long enough to fish out the plastic bag that was folded in her pocket. It contained perhaps the most vital clue in their on-going case. The engraved bottle-cap.

It was made from a thin metal that was easily pliable, making it a poor choice for any real cap. This turned out to be quite helpful; it matched none of the major brands of drinkable items and for the small tourists shops it was clear that the lid itself was unique. For the drinks that were homemade, soda and beer alike, a tougher metal was used with glass bottles, and even those were hard to find. Glass broke far too easily and created a mess the city disliked since most people didn't bother with making their way to a garbage can.

There was a crowd for how small the store was, but it was bearable and with little effort Catherine managed to make it to the front counter. Nick was a bit behind her but she waited till he made it before gathering the store owner's attention. It was protocol to always announce who they were and what department they worked for despite the fact it was embroidered on their vests. Sometimes she hated the policy; people often shied away and clammed up in the presence of authority, especially when they believed one was a cop.

The man, however, smiled their way, "Welcome, I'd invite you to sit but as you can see there is no room."

"No need," Catherine reassured him, placing the bag on the counter. "You recognize this?"

"You came to show me one of my bottle caps? I know they're not the greatest, and I have new lids on order for when I make my new batch, but I'm not letting a good beer go to waste. It's expensive; and it's not like they're dangerous; no one's been hurt from them."

"Why are you ordering new ones then?"

It was Nick who had asked the question, but Catherine was wondering the same. Why was there any need to fix something when it wasn't broken?

"Complaints; customers want to recap their bottles. Most of the lids are stretched when pulled off and they can't go back on."

"You've been making this for a while?" Nick inquired.

The man nodded, "A year now…maybe more. The glass bottles are newer, I used to serve fresh here but I don't' have enough room to really invite people to linger. So I made them to go. Plastic first, but then it doesn't taste as fresh. So I moved to glass about half a year ago. I'm still working out some of the kinks. Why does this matter?"

"We need to know if you have any regular customers."

"All of my customers are regular," he gave them a smile but it disappeared when the pair failed to return it. "I don't take any personal information down, I just sell. I have a guest book in the corner people can sign, but the only people that do that are those passing through."

Catherine nodded, understanding the situation. "You see people enough; can you tell us who comes through here often enough?"

He seemed to be deep in concentration, his brow furrowing as he did so. "I have a few that stop by several times a week…one gentleman that comes by every day. I could get some names, but it would take me a few days."

"Do that," she encouraged him; "we would like to know." She paused here, then flipped the bag so the bottom of the cap could be seen. The small engraving was a jumbled mess, hard to distinguish if it was muddled letters or a poor rendition of a particular symbol or picture. "Any idea what this is?"

"Not mine," he shook his head holding out his hands. "Scratching anything there would cause parts of the metal to fall into the beer. I wouldn't risk doing that."

"It doesn't look familiar?"

"I've never seen it," he confessed.

She nodded, satisfied then as she turned away motioning for Nick to follow. The man did so without so much as a word, the bright sunlight causing him to blink as he stepped from the store. Catherine had waited till they were outside to say anything, not wishing anyone to overhear.

"What do you think?"

The Texan shrugged his shoulders, letting out a sigh. "He seems honest enough, and he's right about the engraving. He wouldn't risk a health code for a fancy design…or a crappy one for that matter."

"We've found three of these so far…almost identical…someone is doing this, someone is trying to tell us something."

He agreed, but his face was grim. "Who is it…and what are they trying to say?"

On the outside he was a changed person. One would not be able to tell that it was him by merely looking. Even for Sara who had done her best to keep in contact with him, to visit and stay by his side at the hospital had a hard time accepting that fact. Gone were most of the bruises that had decorated his delicate flesh, the muddled patches of grayish-blue markings fading into a warmer skin tone. It had washed away the eerie paleness he had once harbored and even his hair seemed to carry a healthier tone.

But Sara knew that he was far from healthy; and looks could be more than deceiving. Inside Greg was very much the same; hesitant, quiet…withdrawn. A haunted expression had settled deep in his eyes; he was getting better at masking it, but at times it still shown through. He was like a creature of prey, always alert in case the need to run and hide arose. It was a frightening thought, leaving Sara to wonder what it was that he so feared.

The very question had been on her mind for the passing days. It occupied her thoughts as she cleaned her place, readying it for his arrival and stay. It would be cramped for a while and at times Sara found herself questioning her judgment involving this matter. She wasn't much of a cook, nor was she prompt about cleaning or keeping things clean. It would be even harder with another person in the apartment. But she could manage…she had no choice.

Cleaning wasn't the only thing needed; shopping was also a necessity. Greg's doctor had spoken with her, readying her for the trials that had yet to come. He had given her a list of necessary items, as well as the lists for several support groups. Having the extra time off from work had given her the chance to do some research on a few. A couple of the groups she liked from just simple glance while others seemed to be too restrictive and Sara feared that the pressure might turn him away.

Greg's eating was also brought into question. He had barely started eating again, and would forego it altogether if anyone allowed it. The idea was foreign to Sara; food was not a passion of hers but there had been times when the pangs of hunger had nearly driven her to tears during a long and difficult shift. The image of not eating or not even having the desire to eat was painful in itself. Why anyone would chose such a miserable pang so willingly was a mystery to her.

The thought remained with her as she continued to ready her apartment; by the time Greg's parents were leaving, the place didn't even look the same. Her bed had remade with fresh sheets and blankets, a neutral blue in color. The closet had been divided in half and now contained an array of clothing gathered and donated by various members of the teams. Some of the clothing belonged to Nick and Warrick, while Catherine had managed to find some great deals at thrift stores. His parents had also helped. As humorous as it was Sara could easily guess that Greg now had more clothing than she did.

The bathroom was clean and stocked with additional hygienic products and Sara had finally managed to finish washing the rest of her towels and washcloths for the shower. She had even remembered to pull out some combs and a fresh toothbrush for him to use. These living areas were not the only ones to change.

Her kitchen had been transformed; the small table had been cleared of all clutter, allowing room for a couple if not several people to sit down. The cabinets now held a variety of food and the fruit bowls were full. Her fridge even held a bit of meat, the very sight of it making her queasy, but Sara had to remind herself it was for Greg. The only problem came in cooking it…

That would be the hardest adjustment; no more take-out, at least not for a while. Greg's eating needed to be monitored; he needed now more than ever the foods that were healthy and essential in helping his body to recover. It would be a long while before Sara would be able to ease her way out of household responsibilities again. Somehow that notion didn't bother her as much as she suspected it would.

Her mind was on other things. Namely picking Greg up. His parents were leaving the hotel around noon, ready to make the several hour drive to his grandparents until they could find other arrangements closer to Vegas. Continually staying in a hotel was out of the question, the prices alone were unaffordable at best. There was talk about finding an apartment, had even discussed the notion with Sara as well as others from the crime lab, seeking any ideas of suggestions.

Sara had none; she didn't blame them for not wanting to leave their son behind. She felt the same way, wishing to keep as near to him as he possibly could. Greg wasn't even her relation…he was hardly even a friend anymore it seemed. She could only imagine the emotions of finding your own flesh and blood alive after so many months of futile searching. They had spent a lot, perhaps more than they could ever afford. No one would chastise them on their decisions; no one had the heart to.

It was the same way when picking him up; Greg's mother holding him close and fighting back tears. His father was more composed but still clearly wrought with emotion as they said their goodbyes. If they could have taken Greg with them, Sara knew they would already be gone. For a time Lena had nothing else on her mind. It had taken grave consideration and prompting on Sara's part to convince the distraught mother that Greg could not leave the city. Lena would not risk Greg's future through selfish decisions.

Even still, Greg seemed almost…relieved when they left. He never said anything, but the emotion on his face spoke for the words that failed to leave his mouth. Unsettled by the quietness of the drive home Sara tried to fill the empty space with talking before finally turning the radio on. If he listened to or even enjoyed the same music she couldn't tell, but she allowed herself to tolerate it for his case simply in hopes that it would ease his nerves.

He had with him a single small suitcase containing the items he had kept with him while at the hotel with his parents. Though it more in likely wasn't needed he brought it with him. It led Sara to think that perhaps she had gone overboard with arrangements, that perhaps this, all of this, was a silly idea stirring in her head, telling her that it would work.

But if Greg was overwhelmed or disappointed in either way he said nothing. It was almost becoming a trademark for him, the silent and secretive nature, and the foreign look accompanying his face. For Sara it was unnerving; she hated not being able to judge moods or feelings, to not know what the man was thinking. There had been a time when he was easy to read, a time when he had been carefree and outgoing, a friend to them all. That time was long ago, a fact that she had to keep reminding herself of.

Inside, things did not improve. Sara watched as he took in her place, knowing then and there that this was the first time Greg had been here. It was a good thing, she considered, knowing that he would feel no guilt or feel the need to question her on the state it was in now compared to how it was before. Others would, she knew that for sure, and with a little luck she might be able to keep them away. A tinge of embarrassment crept into her cheeks as she thought it over. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous all of this seemed.

It was as though she was back in High School, chasing a fantasy crush, a dream that could never come real. Yet it was real for Greg, the very man that would have to suffer both through and from her silly whims. Sara took a breath then, vowing to put the thoughts from her mind. Never again would she fall victim to them, wanting instead to help him where it was needed.

"You're welcome to anything here," she found herself saying as Greg sat on the end of the couch. Dressed in blue jeans, a black short sleeve shirt he almost appeared to be the same person she once knew. At her comment he merely glanced her way, a flick of the eyes ever so quickly then it was gone.

"You don't have to do this. I can find somewhere to stay."

"And were would you go?" she wondered, moving to sit opposite of him. The talk wasn't comforting, but at least he was communicating.

"Somewhere," he paused, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"My point exactly," she nodded, "We're trying to help you."

"I know…" his voice was soft then, barely distinguishable, but she could still hear him as he spoke. "I just…I don't want to get anyone involved."

The smile she gave him was grim, but it warmed as she answered.

"We already are."

TBC