--
THE LAB: 1:30 A.M.
From a distance, Brass watched Grissom talk with one of the techs, carefully studying a sheaf of papers as they held a fairly intense conversation. Though normally bold and unafraid of expressing his opinion on anything and everything, when he wished to, Jim Brass could be utterly invisible to those around him no matter how big the crowd. He was currently practicing this skill while he tried to finish processing what had happened in the locker room a few nights before. Even at the time, he'd been perfectly aware that Gil had no legitimate reason for wanting him to look at the old case, except perhaps as an excuse to be physically close. This point, and the screaming telegrams from his brain telling him Gil would never, in a million years, do something like that, were what the detective was currently hung up on and what were keeping his normally razor sharp mind from figuring the problem out. Finally, seeing Grissom about to move off to parts unknown, Jim realized he had to make a move. The game would never see a winner if he refused to leave the dugout; he had to at least set foot on the field.
"Gris, hold up..."
"Jim. What is it?"
"That cold case... anything new come from what were talkin' about?"
"Hmmm? Oh, no... afraid not. I appreciated your insight, but... no, there are no new leads. If it breaks, you'll be the first to know, I promise."
Brass tilted his head slightly, grinned and studied Gil more intently.
"You okay, Gil?"
"I'm fine. Why?"
"I don't know... you probably speak a dozen languages. Could be more, I never thought to ask. I do know babble isn't one of 'em."
"Jim..."
"Forget it. I was just curious, not tryin' to weird you out. You feel like a drink after work?"
"Drink?"
"Yeah, drink. Beer, whiskey, Boone's Farm... all the stuff that makes you wish you never woke up the next morning. Well not you... but the rest of us poor slobs."
"I have gotten drunk before, Jim." Grissom replied, his tone colored with the faintest touch of indignance.
"Sure. So you joinin' me after work or not?"
Grissom was silent for a moment, suddenly unsure if his carefully crafted plan was still in play, or if Jim had caught on and was dragging it in a direction of his own making. Eventually, however, Gil realized he had yet to respond and chose a path that was utterly unlike him: going with the flow.
"Of course. I'll find you."
"Okay." Jim's smile broadened as he turned and strolled away. Leaving a supremely confused CSI supervisor behind him.
--
2:15: THE APARTMENT
"Greg! Greggo, take it easy... touch my hands... there... that's it. It's just me... it's Nick. Close your eyes... breathe slow. Just a nightmare, babe... just a bad dream. You're safe with me..."
"God... oh God..."
"Shhh. Relax... it's okay. I'm here. You wanna tell me about it? Might make it easier if you talk."
"Everybody was looking at me... I kept yelling at them to go away... but they all knew what I was, they could see it... they looked so sick and scared, like just being near me they'd catch my disease and get attacked too... I kept screaming... trying to make them understand I didn't want this, I never wanted this... they wouldn't listen. Then they all just disappeared... and I was alone."
"That's really good, Greg. I'm so proud of you. Now finish it. Tell me the rest."
"That's all there is."
"I've been there, baby. That's never all. C'mon... you can do it. Get the poison out and be done with it for tonight. It's the only way you'll sleep."
"No..."
"Greg, love... I know. I've kept this shit to myself for so many years. The times I wake up screamin an' sweatin' so bad I have to change the sheets... days I can barely get through 'cause I didn't sleep but five or ten minutes at a stretch the night before. I couldn't tell a soul the worst stuff... can't. They don't get it. You got somebody here who does, Greg. I know what it is to feel like you're hollowed out 'cause your pain an' anger ate up everything inside you. I know. Please, babe, talk to me. Finish the dream."
"I... I was alone." Greg finally continued, his voice low and strained. "Then I was back there... in the hospital room... and he was on top of me... only this time he was telling me he killed you and the nurses and locked the door... so nobody was coming to save me. It felt just like that night... I couldn't breathe and it hurt so much... then he did what he promised... I wanted it all to just go black, fade away... but it wouldn't. I was there for all of it... no drugs, no lost memory to protect me. Then he let me die... then you woke me up."
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Nick wrapped his hands tightly around Greg's.
"Greg... hell... I shoulda known, shoulda sensed somehow you were in trouble... stopped him ever gettin' in your room...
"No! Nick, no! This isn't your fault, damn it!"
His hands trembling and his own tears starting to spill over, Greg reached up and cradled Nick's face tenderly. "Don't ever make me do this again, okay? It makes it worse to see you break your heart trying to help me feel better. From now on lots of soothing and comfort... but no specifics."
"But you need to..."
"What I need is you here. That's all. Please, Nicky. It'll kill both of us and the love we're building if we don't stop. Please..."
"Okay. On one condition. You tell Cyn if she asks."
"You don't push her to ask. Not in any way, shape or form."
"Deal. You think you can sleep?"
"No way."
"Alright. Tea, cookies an' old movies?"
"That I can handle. No Hitchcock, though."
"Romance an' comedy only. Gotcha."
--
AN ALLEY OFF THE STRIP: THREE A.M.
Pulling his light jacket closer around him, Blair fought off the shivers wracking his thin frame and cursed his temper and his emotional nature for the hundredth time that night. Squinting at his watch in the dim light, he laughed darkly and made the correction silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
Morning, idiot... it's morning. Man. who would've thought it could get this cold down here? It's a desert, yeah... but all the bodies and activity... and the buildings should hold some heat down near street level shouldn't they? Of course, if you hadn't been so stupid and run off with barely anything on...
"Sometimes I can be just as stubborn and blind as Jim." He finally muttered out loud, though it was still almost inaudible. "I was the one who said I was done with her... not willing to put up with her manipulative crap anymore. Then the minute he starts to feel a little more free expressing his opinion about her, I defend her, blow my stack and run away like a cranky toddler who got oatmeal raisin cookies instead of Oreos for his snack."
Leaning a little closer to the limited warmth of the building on his left, Blair miserably reminded himself that the cold wasn't his only problem. His wallet was in his pocket, but very little cash resided in it and he possessed no credit card. What money he had wasn't even enough for a decent meal, never mind a cab back to his hotel. It would've been more than sufficient for a pay-phone call, but he had also taken off without snatching up any slips of paper with helpful numbers written on them. Greg, their own hotel... he had no way to contact anyone who could get him back where he desperately wanted to be. His only hope was a phone booth with an intact book, but when he peered out cautiously, there wasn't one in sight.
He'd just decided, finally, to risk his safety on the street and try to find a business that would allow him phone privileges, but a tiny sound behind him changed that plan before he could take a step out onto the sidewalk. Years of working beside a Sentinel cop had not only sensitized Blair's own hearing, it had taught him to instantly recognize the sound of human suffering. Cursing under his breath, he turned back and moved deeper into the alley.
"Hello? It's okay, I swear. I won't hurt you. Do you need help? Just talk to me... please? Gimme some idea where you are..."
A moment later his question was answered as he moved past the end of a dumpster and discovered a huddled lump in the shadow of the huge metal bin. Slowly, he knelt on the ground near the figure and continued to talk gently and quietly, hoping to encourage the person to trust him. "Hey... I heard you from way out by the street. Sounded like you're in trouble... or hurt maybe? I can help, I really can. Just let me see you? Hmmm? So I can see if you need first aid or anything..." he cajoled, reaching out with one hand. When the other flinched away and scrambled back, clearly trying to avoid being touched, her face was revealed and Blair gasped softly. "Oh my God... Sara? You name is Sara Sidle, isn't it? Everybody's been looking for you. All your friends are majorly worried. Look... I'm kinda lost myself. I was just gonna go find a phone... see if I can get some help. If you won't come with me, will you at least promise me you'll still be here when I come back? It's not safe out there... and you look like you've already been beat up a little. Okay? Stay here?"
Sara studied Blair's face for a long time before she finally gave a jerky nod. "Good. I won't be long." He said, stripping off his jacket and laying it on the ground in front of her as he rose to his feet. "Take it. It'll keep you warm."
"You... you need..." she croaked, frowning.
"I'm good. Go on, take it. I won't go unless I know you'll be alright while I'm away."
With a grunt, Sara grabbed the coat and draped it over herself as best she could. Blair grinned and walked backwards toward the street, only turning at the last minute. "I will be back, I promise... and I'll bring help. Try not to be scared, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you. They'd have to get through me, first..."
--
TBC...