Very sorry for the late update! I was helping my best friend move this weekend. Also, the nexxt chapter will be late as well because I am away at a family reunion.
Warnings: Extreme nerdiness, some language, bashing of literature, irresponsibility
Grissom tried not to panic internally as Ed passed out; he was just reaching for the nurse call button when Al reached out to stop him.
"It's okay," he said quietly, his eyes on Ed's slack face. "It's happened a few times already. Doctor Speighn says it's not something to worry about; his body's still trying to get rid of all the drugs he was given, but sometimes it'll just... give up for a bit. And it doesn't help when he aggravates his injuries by moving so much." He scowled slightly, though it was ineffective seeing as the one it was directed at was unconscious. "He should wake up within an hour or so."
Grissom pulled his hand back before settling it on the sheets next to him. "And he wonders why he needs to stay in the hospital."
Al shrugged, hands held to the sides. "He's always been stubborn, especially about hospitals and stuff like that. He hates needles, so it's probably an associative thing. I'm actually surprised he hadn't tried to take that one out." He gestured at the IV that was still firmly taped against Ed's forearm.
"He definitely did last time," Grissom snorted, remembering the fiasco that had erupted after Ed had been poisoned.
"I'm not surprised," Al chuckled. "He's probably just too tired this time." The look on the kid's face as he looked down at Ed was strangely sad.
"You okay?" Greg asked after a second of silence.
"I'm just not used to seeing him like this, you know? Even when he's been stupid and gotten himself hurt, he always..." Al looked a bit frustrated as he searched for a word. "He always has this energy. The kind of thing you can't ignore, because he demands that you look at him. Right now he's just... he's hurt. And you can tell. The last time I saw him like this..." He breathed deeply and ran a hand through his hair roughly. "It was right after he had his automail surgery, though he's actually a bit more active this time. So it's just weird, and not in a good way."
"Don't kill yourself over it," Greg offered. "It's normal to worry about your family, especially when they're hurt."
Al snorted. "I'm always worried about him. This isn't much more than usual. I just don't like it when he doesn't get mad about me for it, because that means maybe there's actually a reason to be."
"Well, you said he'd wake up in an hour, so we've got that long for me to monopolize your time. I can ask you the questions Ed probably won't answer and then we can talk with him when he's awake."
The offer was apparently enough of a distraction for the younger Elric, and five minutes later the two were engrossed in the book once more. A sheaf of paper and a pen had been produced from somewhere, and Al was scribbling things as Greg asked questions and pointed out differences.
Grissom watched them with a small smile before turning to get himself a chair. As comfortable as the hospital bed was, it wasn't really something he could sit on for the next hour without getting a crick in his back. He wasn't as young as he used to be, regrettably.
With a sigh, he settled himself in the chair against the far wall before pulling out his phone and running through his emails. He was technically off shift and had a few hours until he should probably go home and sleep, but for now he could do what he needed to from here, and still be around when Ed woke and they could actually talk.
He definitely told himself that it was purely professional curiosity, but his mind betrayed him as it gave a little zing of excitement at the prospect of getting information about alchemy out of someone who actually actively used it.
The groan from the bed silenced the quiet murmuring that had permeated the room for the last thirty five minutes, and Al was up in a moment and at Ed's side. No matter how much of a calm facade the kid put on about his brother's passing out, it was clear that he was concerned. Grissom didn't fault him for it—what brother wouldn't be?
"How are you feeling?" Al asked, already with the glass of water in hand.
Ed muttered something incoherent before squinting his eyes open and flapping his hand slightly. Apparently it was a good sign, because Al pressed the button to make the bed sit up slightly higher and pressed the water into Ed's awkward grip.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Greg said cheerfully.
Ed choked, nearly dropping the glass before Al took it from his fingers and returned it to the bedside table. His coughing sounded shallow and painful, but he still managed to glare at the Trace expert before his eyes trailed over to Grissom by the wall.
"You're still here?" he sputtered roughly through his coughing, which was thankfully already starting to slack off.
"Was there somewhere else we should be?" Grissom asked mildly, one eye still on the report he'd been reading on the little screen.
Ed cleared his throat—with an unpleasant gurgle—before responding. "Anywhere. I thought you guys actually did work."
"We do, but not in our time off unless we're being paid overtime. Greg came to ask about alchemy. I'm his chaperone."
The indignant squeak from Greg and the slight eyebrow twitch from Ed were absolutely worth it.
"You said you were going to ask me questions about what happened!"
"Which I will," Grissom assured him. "But there's not much point getting the whole story until we've made our specific questions and know what we need to ask. Which will probably be next week."
Ed rolled his eyes and leaned back against the raised top half of the bed. "Whatever."
Grissom took it for the concession it was.
Greg had come closer to the bed when Al did; he actually scooted his chair closer and unceremoniously plopped a newer looking (and quite elaborately titled Alchemy: the Lost Art and Its Dour Practitioners) book in Ed's lap. The teen eyed the book with trepidation—no doubt taking in the colourful swirls around the title words and the dark silhouette of a hunched figure that alluded to terrible things happening behind the light—and turned his stare to Greg with a raised eyebrow.
"It's the first in a series," Greg said with a shrug. "I figured it might be something useful to look into." When Ed remained silent, he snorted. "Well, it's worth a laugh, at least. And you find useful information in the most interesting of places."
"Those interesting places usually don't involve making alchemists look like devil worshippers," Ed snarked, but he'd picked up the book without too much fuss and flipped open to the front cover. Grissom leaned in to see the opening page, and cringed at the table of contents. Things like The greatest ART of all! and Unlocking your inner peace (and then ignoring it) spewed across the page. It looked like something written by a high school student who had had a little bit too much to drink and wanted to annoy their English teacher. "This is garbage," Ed grumbled, but nonetheless started to turn pages and run his eyes over the text. "What exactly do you want to know?"
Greg shrugged again. "What's accurate, what isn't. How far people actually got from the real definition of alchemy." Ed looked up at him through his bangs, and the Trace expert shifted slightly and scratched his nose. "I sorta want to, you know, learn. And not in a literal sense," he hastened to add at the suddenly darkening look in Ed's eyes. "I know that I can't do alchemy here. I just want to learn as much about it as I can."
"He does that," Grissom cut in to defend his colleague. "Research for research's sake."
Ed watched him for another second before turning back to the book with a muttered "Well, can't say I don't understand that."
Greg looked ready to ask questions immediately as Ed started turning pages again, but Al touched his shoulder and shook his head. The kid had grabbed the pad of paper and pen from the bed side table and was sliding it under Ed's good hand; almost as if he didn't notice he was doing it, Ed grabbed the pen in an awkward but serviceable finger-grip and started to scribble on the paper, almost without looking. "Don't interrupt him when he's reading. It usually doesn't work, and when it does it just makes him angry because you'll ruin his concentration." Al's smile was rueful. "No matter what it is, he'll work hard on it. Even if it's rubbish." The look was clearly directed at the flamboyant cover of the alchemy book.
Greg sat back with a clearly disappointed look. "So we have to wait until after to talk about it?" He looked almost like a kicked puppy.
Al took pity on him and snatched up the book they'd left a few minutes ago. "I'm fine with talking through things. We can go over this one and when Ed's done we can talk about that one."
"Sounds like a long-term project," Grissom commented as Greg settled back into the chair Al had occupied and Al fetched the third one from near the wall beside Grissom. "Are you sure you have enough time to do this and still sleep before your shift?" It was meant as a gentle reminder, but the wounded look he received from the younger man made it seem like he'd just proclaimed that he'd been fired and was never allowed to touch another piece of DNA again.
"I'll sleep here if I have to," he grumped after a minute. "We don't know how long we'll have these guys to give us information like this. We're recovering a lost science!" Greg waved his arms above his head dramatically.
Grissom held his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. "I'm not your parent, you can do what you want. But we do have them for at least another three days, barring any escape attempts." It was a testament to Ed's concentration that he didn't even look up at the mention of escape. Al gave him the stink eye, though. "But new science or no, it's been a long shift and I need sleep just like the rest of them." As he stood, he focused on Al. "Make sure he either goes home at some point or at least sleeps a few hours. We're going to need him."
"This isn't the first time I've had to deal with someone like him, Mr. Grissom," Al assured him, giving an amused look to the ignorant figure on the bed. "Don't worry. I'll watch over him."
Grissom smiled and gave a little salute as he made his way to the door, Greg's indignant squawk of "I'm not a kid!" following him out.
It was nearing two in the afternoon when a red-eyed but determined Greg Sanders finally closed his current book and ran both his hands over his face. "That's it. I can't read another word."
When he looked over at the bed, he was met with two sets of owlishly blinking eyes from the brothers, who had at some point ended up shoulder to shoulder on the extremely thin frame and were both peering at the same book. There were piles of paper scattered around them, scribbles of all kinds all over them. Greg had had to make a trip down to the supply store just down the street about two hours in, because the hospital was only willing to supply so much paper and ink before they started to ration it. There were sheaves flung across the floor in an organized chaos of research and corrections; he hoped to God that he'd be able to read half of what was written and maybe make a coherent whole out of all of it sometime in the distant future.
Not that he had any ulterior motive. No. Not at all.
"Giving up already?" Ed snarked, though Greg could hear a note in his voice that said if he hadn't called it soon, Ed himself would have. The blond had deep circles around his eyes and had handed most of the writing off to Al around noon, mostly sitting back and reading with the book propped up on his knees while Al made notes.
"I think we've done enough for today," Al sighed, taking the book from Ed's lap and gaining only a token protest. "I'm definitely done. My eyes are going to fall out of my head; I don't think they're used to this much work yet."
And that was a comment that, like a few that had been made in the last five hours, threw Greg just a bit. Everything about the Elrics was an enigma (though it was definitely getting less and less as time went on, because Ed's reticence and Al's general reluctance couldn't hide everything forever), but the comments from Al seemed the most out of place. When he'd picked up one of the largest books at one point, he'd just as quickly dropped it. "Guess I'm not used to things actually being heavy," he'd laughed while rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. No other comment had been made as he bent down to pick it up—much more carefully this time—and moved on with their discussion as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
It was a mystery, and Greg didn't like mysteries. But, before he could work up the courage to ask (with the distinct possibility of being rebuffed), Ed leaned back and scratched his head with a frown.
"Not used to having no hair again," he complained, pulling a strand forward and trying to peer at it, going slightly cross eyed in the process. "Makes me feel like a kid again."
Greg wisely refrained from comment on that one, because he would inevitably make some kind of analogy to poorly-groomed hedgehogs. Al clearly felt no such compunction. "I guess you'll have to grow it out again, Ed." The older brother scowled before blowing his bangs out of his face with a slight chuckle.
"Kind of weird, huh? It's like we're back at the beginning again. Me with no hair and no arm, and you sitting there trying not to be worried even though I know you better."
"Where exactly is your arm?" Greg asked in the ensuing silence, because he'd never liked being an outsider while people shared a silent conversation—and the Elrics seemed to be having an entire meaningful exposition through shared glances alone.
Al motioned with his head over at the small two-drawer dresser that occupied the wall near the bathroom door. "I had to help them get it off, because they couldn't work on his shoulder without it being an issue. And it was causing him pain, so they didn't want to risk nerve damage when it was damaged like that."
"More like you demanded they take it off," Ed snorted. At the sharp look he received, he shrugged. "I talked to the nurse when she came in yesterday, when you were getting your breakfast."
Greg hadn't heard the story, and Ed was all too happy to share it with him. By the time he'd finished describing the frankly surprising way that Al had apparently barged into emergency, hands bleeding and wild-eyed, to demand that they give him all the information on his brother's condition and remove his arm because what the hell are you thinking that thing's so damage it'll probably fall off the second you move it get it off right now, Al was red-faced and hunched ever so slightly, a look on his face that said he wanted to disappear into the floor.
"It wasn't that bad," he protested feebly. Ed just laughed.
"I know you, Al. it was probably exactly like that."
"Not that it's a bad thing," Greg cut in, seeing the red of Al's face worsen. "You're protective and that's okay. That's what brothers do."
"Usually it's the older one doing the protecting," Al quipped, recovering remarkably quickly and shooting Ed a look.
"Hey, I protect you all the time!" the blond protested. "Like that time when you were stupid enough to go near the Carmicheals' house when they were shingling it—"
"I was five! And you were just as close! It's not my fault I was a bigger target."
"Are you trying to say I'm small? A gnat? A speck of dust?"
"Stop flailing like that, Ed, you're gonna hurt yourself. No, sit down—!"
"Goddamnit that hurts! It's all your fault, Al, you—"
Greg let the argument wash over him, amused. He gave a tired little huff at Ed's stubbornness, and then before he knew it their conversation was drifting off.
"You're late" was the first thing that Sara said as Greg stumbled into the lab at half past eight, his shirt rumpled and his hair probably all over the place. He tried not to think about the fact that it was also probably spiked in the places it was still wet; Ed's wake-up tactics definitely left something to be desired. The bastard.
At least Al had berated him and taken away the previously full cup of water.
"Slept in," he told her shortly before making his way toward the temporary Trace lab. Maybe if he got there fast enough and looked busy right away, Grissom wouldn't notice he was half hour behind.
Of course, the plan would have worked so much better if his boss hadn't been waiting quite patiently in the lab, leaning against the edge of a table and looking as though he had nowhere better to be at all.
"Really?" Greg groused as he entered. "You had to wait around to see if I came in on time? What, don't you trust me?"
Grissom's raised eyebrow was about as sarcastic as the man ever got. "I needed something looked over. And the results of the scans from yesterday, with Copwell's blood. Hodges left them in the safe. And I need the trace analysis from the Bland case."
Greg groaned as he made his way to the evidence safe in the corner, rubbing his neck with his free hand while he unlocked it. "Couldn't you wait like, an hour? Nine o'clock, that's all I would have wanted. But no, you have to be on top of things and now look where we are."
"You wouldn't have been late if you hadn't slept at the hospital."
"I didn't—" He turned, papers in hand, to be greeted by the raised eyebrow again. Damnit. "Okay, so maybe I nodded off and then got a rude awakening fifteen minutes ago. Not my fault."
"Then I guess you're blaming the Elrics for that one?"
"They've got a lot to say and didn't want to stop! Also not my fault."
Grissom just nodded. Greg hated that nod. Why did the man have to be so damn chill while so obviously laughing at you on the inside? (And how the hell could he learn how to do that?)
"Here's the Bland stuff," he said instead, stuffing the papers into Grissom's hands. "Not much came back; some epithelials that didn't have a specific match, but could be useful. A bit of dust, the vic's blood." He flipped open the report on Arthur Copwell's blood. "But this, this is interesting. No known substance, though it's clearly not a natural compound. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was some kind of undiscovered element."
Grissom gave him a flat look. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
Greg waved a hand flippantly. "I know that. It was just an idea. But whatever, I'll run it through a few more filters. We've definitely got enough samples to do whatever we need to."
"No one's come to claim the body," Grissom commented almost absently as he read over the tox report.
"So we've basically got an unlimited supply!" That earned him an unimpressed look, and he quickly backpedaled. "No one at all? I mean, didn't he even have a family?"
Grissom shook his head. "None that we can find. His ex-wife essentially said good riddance, and he doesn't have any extended family. His parents passed away a decade ago."
"Ouch," Greg murmured, but he couldn't actually bring himself to feeling sorry for the guy. From what he'd learned of his back story, Copwell had been a pharmacist for years before he divorced his wife of four years and moved to Vegas. When they'd searched his house two days ago, Brass had found what he called "a shit ton of creepy stuff with a bit of black magic voodoo thrown in," which in Brass-speak translated to a mostly normal house that had some serious witchcraft-like paraphernalia scattered everywhere. Apparently they'd even found a shrine to some kind of god of eternal life—the research for that had been given over to Sara, much to Greg's annoyance. Supposedly he'd been "occupied with something else" at the time. It was probably Grissom just being a bully and trying to keep Greg from coming up with any theories.
The fact that his latest theory about the Elric brothers had actually been true apparently didn't even register. Which was so unfair.
"Well, I should let you get to work," Grissom said, pushing himself off of the table and putting a little folder on it in his place. "A few partials from the Dormier case. Think you can get them run in the next hour before you pass out?"
That was offensive. "Of course. I'm not about to fall asleep over my work." Greg snatched up the folder and tossed it next to the scanner connected to his computer. "I'm not completely incompetent."
"Then prove it. Deadlines aren't a joke." The way he said it was ambiguous enough that Greg really couldn't tell if he was supposed to feel chastised or not. He went with not just for the hell of it.
Instead of saying anything, he simply reached over and turned on his music (his speakers connected to the new iPod he'd managed to scrounge enough money together to get last week after the unfortunate destruction of his previous one). Classic rock immediately started to blare and filled the space, making it feel ever so slightly more familiar even though it was just a temporary solution and not his lab.
He heard a faint snort from behind him, but by the time he turned around to snatch up another sample of Copwell's blood, Grissom was long gone.
"Shit!" he blurted as he sat up with a start; he could feel the imprint of the keyboard on his face, and he scrubbed at his cheeks determinedly. A data analysis for one of Warrick's cases was still running on the screen in front of him, though there was a large bolded afjdguarhjha fahdsjghawf wjafwfdhlllllllfddddddddd dddfffffffffffffffffffffffffff in the insert field. He quickly backspaced through it to try and hide the evidence of his (hopefully) short foray into nap time.
"Nicely done."
Greg jerked and whirled in his seat, eyes wide as he saw Sara leaning against the doorway. "Don't scare me like that!"
"Don't sleep on the job," she countered easily, moving into the room.
Greg scowled. "Did you need something?" he grumped, annoyed that he'd been caught.
"Just came for a few samples of Arthur Copwell's blood." She gestured at the rack of samples in the cooler against one wall. "Hodges has a few ideas for analyzing whatever's in them."
Greg stared at her stupidly for a moment, before jerking himself into full wakefulness. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever. Not like I'm getting anything out of them; if he can figure it out then all power to him." He'd spent the last—he checked the clock on the wall and saw that it was already past three a.m.—seven hours running the same kind of samples through as many filters and tests as he could possibly think of, and nothing—not even the most obscure things that he'd actually just looked up on an information sharing website he frequented for forensic analysts—had yielded anything but inconclusive data. He'd even had to go back to Doc and get as many blood samples as the man was willing to extract. At this point, getting any sort of conclusion would be better than the pride of having figured it out over Hodges; he just wanted a few good answers. "Take 'em all if you want to. I got nothing."
Sara seemed happy enough to cart off the tray, and Greg turned his eyes back to the screen, where the last of the tests was running. It was really his final ditch effort to come up with some kind of explanation, but it didn't look like anything was going to come of it.
"Clearly it's witchcraft," he muttered to himself as the computer bleeped, telling him that it had come up with the same unknown substance as it had in the previous six bajillion tests. With a sigh, he rested his head in his hand, staring blankly at the screen.
Review if you enjoyed!
-Akita