A/N: Hey you! Yeah, you! Thanks for waiting so patiently for an update! I decided to post this as two chapters instead of one huge one. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Ready (But Not That Ready)

Sara's meeting with Ecklie and Russell went as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. Although she still wasn't Ecklie's biggest fan, he had softened with time. He now seemed almost sympathetic to her and Greg's ordeal, and kept the conversation professional and short. She would be allowed to officially return to work soon, pending Greg's statement and how things turned out with Whitney Adams. After reaching her car she noticed that Nick had called and left a brief voicemail, asking her to bring 'real' food to the hospital for he and Greg when her meeting ended.

So, carrying a bag of take-out Sara made the usual trek through the hospital and encountered Nick pacing just outside of Greg's room. When he saw her he hurried over, looking relieved.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked immediately, fearing the worst as always. She assumed Nick would have mentioned on the phone if something had happened during Greg's statement, but his tone on the voicemail and now his motions had a very anxious air about them.

"I don't know…The things that happened to him. I know I have to hold myself together for Greg, but I'm really struggling. I'm so pissed at Adams and Harris, and we're only partly done with this." Nick spoke softly when he responded. Greg was on the other side of the door and he didn't want him to overhear, even though Greg was smart enough to know they would talk about him.

Sara frowned as his words sunk in. She struggled to keep herself from asking for specifics about Greg's stories. "You guys didn't get through the whole thing today? He kept saying that he was looking forward to being done with his statement. What happened?"

Nick glanced at the door, looking somewhat ashamed now. "That was my decision. He recites everything like lines he was forced to memorize for a school play, but with very little emotion. It's disturbing, honestly. I had no idea he would remember this much, and I still think he's holding back. I don't think the way he's dealing is healthy."

Part of Sara disagreed with Nick; he shouldn't have made the decision for Greg to put the statement on hold, but she was also secretly and selfishly grateful that he had. She probably would have done the same thing. "How can any of us critique Greg for the way that he's dealing with this? He's going to be fine, Nick. We're less than two weeks out from finding him; it's still so, so early. How is he right now?"

"He was a bit perturbed with me at first, but seems fine. I'm going to grab some coffee and I have a few calls to make." Nick stalked off.

Sara entered Greg's room. The television was on, but Greg's gaze was focused somewhere past the soap opera that was playing and the set itself. "So, who chose the viewing experience?"

His eyes snapped to her as if startled but once he saw her, he smirked and used the remote to switch the T.V. off. "Nick's. He said it's so terrible that it's entertaining, but I think that's an excuse because he seemed really into it."

Sara laughed as she took the chair closest to the bed. "You didn't change the channel when he left the room."

"Busted."

A tray was already set up over Greg's lap so she placed his meal there. So far, he had meekly and courteously accepted the assistance given by his friends, but everyone could sense some understandable tension and silent frustration on Greg's part over his own current state of helplessness. He looked away as she casually but efficiently unwrapped and placed items within reach to facilitate eating with one hand.

After thanking her, he dug in. "Oh, you have no idea how much I've missed this place," he said between bites, indicating the carry-out bag with a small nod of his head.

She'd gotten him a large amount of food, knowing that he would likely have leftovers, but she wanted him to have options. Although, she'd stuck to blander foods that would be gentler on his stomach and digestive tract, since his body was still struggling to adjust from the week he'd spent without any nutrition at all. He ate hurriedly at first but slowed down rather quickly, then sat back with a contented sigh and thanked her again.

"You're welcome," Sara beamed at him. She packed up his leftovers, put them aside, and took care of the trash before returning to her seat. A few minutes of silence passed until she spoke again. "Greg, you know that Nick was just trying to—"

"Parent me until my real parents get into town?" Greg grinned humorlessly. "I know, I know, and he's right. My throat needed a break and I needed a break. But I really, really wanted to get it over with in one sitting."

She nodded sympathetically. His grin had vanished too quickly, and he seemed to be deep in thought as he stared straight ahead at one of the curtains. She leaned back and studied him carefully. They shared a few more minutes of amicable silence.

Unexpectedly, Greg broke the quiet this time. "I keep having these random memories, thoughts, or maybe hallucinations. It doesn't matter if I'm awake or asleep. There are some images and words that I'm trying to sort but it's like using some kind of alien filing system. I think they'll go away with time, but some of them…some of them, I don't want to go away. I'm pretty sure I know what wasn't real in that warehouse—and trust me, there was a lot that wasn't real."

Greg paused to try to clear his throat, which caused him to cough. It took him some time to regain his breath, during which Sara watched protectively, ready to call for a doctor if needed.

His words weren't making much sense to her, but he was allowing her a small glimpse into his mind and she was grateful for that. She knew that it would take him a long time to completely open up about what happened, but she appreciated each small bit he trusted her with.

"I remember when you were there with me, before you escaped."

Sara leaned in once more and added softly, "You were so badly hurt. I didn't expect you to remember much from that."

"I thought it was a dream, but now I'm not so sure. Sara…what you said and what you did kept me going. I'll never forget that, or be able to repay you. I understand why you did it, why you said what I needed to hear."

He remembered what she'd confessed to him when she thought he couldn't hear. He remembered the kiss.

Did he really think she'd have lied to him? She had been holding his hand almost around the clock since he'd been found. Did he believe this was her humoring him? "Please, don't think like that. Listen to me, everything that I said and did, I meant. The fact that it kept you going is a bonus." She carefully lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, then held it close as she continued. "No matter what, I'll be here for you. I hope that someday we might be more than friends, but I understand if I…lost my chance, or something."

He gave her a wry, sidelong glance. "You had tons of chances."

Sara felt her heart nearly crumble. He really had given her countless opportunities. It was just never the right time for them, and perhaps it never would be. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded in understanding. "I know."

"But it's not like me to give up so easily," he added after a long moment.

Sara smiled, "It's really not."

Their hands still clasped together, Greg used that connection to pull her to him; not that she resisted. Sara was fully off her chair now, crouched over the bed and their heads were only inches apart. Still, he looked straight ahead, breathing heavily either from emotion or pain.

This close, Sara could see in vivid detail the framework of the marks on his skin. Although most bruises had faded to a mottled mixture of olive green and pale yellow, and the cuts were well on their way to mended, she could still make out every single blemish. It was as if the image of Greg at his worst had forever shrouded her view of him, and she hated Whitney and Harris for that.

Greg would never rid himself of the scars, both physical and emotional, and Sara would always have her memories of seeing him like that. It had been tough after the laboratory explosion and the gang beating, but this time was different somehow. Sara felt responsible. She closed her eyes and tried to push the negative thoughts away for now. He was healing, and so was she. As she had reminded Nick only minutes ago, the incident was still very fresh in all of their minds, and recovery wasn't an overnight process.

Sara pressed her lips briefly to Greg's shoulder before rested her chin there lightly. She took a deep breath as she sensed him slowly relax. How the guy managed to smell so damn good after occupying a hospital for so long, Sara had no idea, and she was slightly ashamed when the thought came into her head. It wasn't a soap or cologne, but the smell was inherently Greg and it calmed her greatly. Feelings began to stir in her that she hadn't experienced in a long time.

"But…why would you want me now? She broke me."

The words were barely audible, and unsure if she'd heard him correctly, Sara opened her eyes again and studied him closely. "Even if she did...Broken isn't the same as irreparable, Greg. We've all been broken in one way or another. All that matters is what you plan on doing with the pieces that are leftover. You need to know that you're not alone in picking those pieces back up, either."

He finally looked to her, and his expression was appreciative. Their foreheads bumped lightly together, and Greg breathed shakily, deeply. She noticed the moisture on his cheeks and quickly pulled herself up next to him on the narrow bed, enclosing her arms around him. This was the position Nick found them in, dozing off, when he returned to the room. He smirked and snagged some of Greg's leftovers before heading outside to eat in the Vegas sun.

The next morning, Nick and Brass showed up at the same time as last. Although Sara was available today, they all agreed that for consistency's sake since Nick was present for the first half of the statement, he should be there for the rest.

Greg's throat was still strained from the amount of talking he did the day before, but he didn't mention that fact. He was ready to continue where he left off, and wasted no time.

"After all of that, they changed how I was tied. The chain was still around my neck but they made me stand and hooked it up higher. I was so tired, but if I didn't stand on my own I'd hang myself. They'd left my hands untied and Whitney was uh, touching me, my neck, and I thought she was going to hurt me, so I pushed her. She had Harris handcuff my wrists and put a piece of duct tape over my mouth. I remember her cutting my chest and stomach before I passed out…and I didn't die, so she must have lowered me to the ground again."

"Did Whitney use the same knife then as when she cut your neck?" Brass asked.

"I think so? I don't remember seeing one, just feeling it when she cut my neck."

"What did it look like when you did see it?"

"I don't know, some sort of small kitchen knife?" Greg looked a bit uneasy but tried to hide it behind a slight upturn of his lips. "Why are you so interested in the knife?"

Brass and Nick glanced at each other, but Nick was the one who answered his question, carefully. "We think that the knife she used on you—the paring knife that we found at the accident scene—was the same weapon used by the sisters on Thomas O'Bryan."

"Oh." He looked away, suddenly going pale.

"Are you okay?"

"I mean, it's…disturbing. She was attached to that thing, carried it all the time. Sometimes I would wake up and there were more cuts, but I had no idea how I got them. If I don't remember something like that, something so painful—" He stopped there. Greg didn't need to finish his sentence because the implication was clear: What else don't I remember?

Nick heard the unspoken question and veered away from that train of thought. "Well, for now let's focus on what you do remember, alright?"

"Yeah." Greg took a deep breath and continued. "When I came to, she was there again with her knife, but I was chained up on the ground instead of the higher hook. My arms were still cuffed, and she looked like she wanted to use that knife again. I tried to get her to talk about herself because I wanted to distract her, and she loved to talk about herself."

"Did it work?" Brass spoke hopefully. "Did she tell you anything useful?"

"Not really. I asked why she chose the name 'Amber', and she said it was a nice color. She also said 'Whitney is no longer with us', almost like Amber was a new person…her way of starting over."

"Multiple personalities?" Brass asked skeptically.

"It doesn't fit. I don't think she's crazy like that. I think she's a psychopath, but she's completely aware of her actions. When she told me that she loved the 'games' that she and her sister played with O'Bryan, she also said she never ran them and I believed her. But when the court system separated her and Lacey, she had to modify herself to be able to take on the world alone."

"There's changing to survive and then there's what Whitney Adams did," Nick said. "There's a huge difference."

"It was all she knew."

Nick frowned, hoping that Greg was not feeling the need to defend Whitney's actions. "That doesn't make her any less guilty of O'Bryan's death, or what she and Harris did to you."

"I know." Greg agreed verbally, but his expression was blank.

Brass didn't give Nick a chance to elaborate further. "What happened next?"

He swallowed hard, mind racing through the events that followed. She'd threatened to take his senses one by one. "She used the chloroform on me again. Next thing I knew, she's waking me up and offering me some ice cubes if I behav—if I did what she said. She said that I needed to be standing to meet my guest. I had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded bad. This was also the first time I remember hearing mentioned how long I'd been there. Whitney said six days and I couldn't believe it. Harris came in, they stood me up, hooked the chain higher again. I didn't think I could stand on my own but then she mentioned 'seeing Sara' and my heart just dropped. They left, and I stood there, waiting. I stood for as long as I could but everything eventually went black and the next time that I was aware of anything, Sara was there."

"Sara was very thorough with her telling of the events that happened while she was there," Brass commented. "If you would like, she has already approved me to allow you to read over her typed statement so that you can elaborate if you have anything more."

"She also told us about how she got away. What were you thinking, man?" Nick suddenly broke in, reprimanding Greg despite attempting to hold back. "You could have gotten yourself killed…" His voice faded out as he realized what he was saying.

Greg looked perplexed instead of insulted. "You even have to ask? It's Sara. I'd do the same for any of you because you're all family."

"Do you need to take a walk, Nick?" Brass scowled at him.

"No," Nick returned sharply.

Brass sighed as he turned back to the man in the hospital bed. "I can bring Sara's statement for you to look over tomorrow. Where our timeline is now lacking, Greg, is in the events following Sara's escape."

"After she ran out, I listened and waited. Harris had gone after her, and while he was gone, Whitney gave me a cup of water."

"Did she say why she gave you water after all that time?"

"It sounded like she wanted to keep me around for longer. I don't know how she and Harris expected things to go with Sara, but I think they need more time for whatever they had planned. When Harris got back, they argued about Sara getting away, and that's how I found out she managed to snag the cell phone on the way out and I was so damn proud. Harris kept complaining about his foot. I think something stung him, but I can't…"

After another questioning glance between him and Brass, Nick spoke up again. "A scorpion. One that wasn't supposed to be there."

"A non-native species?"

"Yeah," continued Nick carefully. "I forget what Grissom called it, but it's deadlier than Vegas species. If someone is already immunocompromised, they're more likely to have a severe reaction to the sting."

Greg pondered that information for a moment. "And Harris was immunocompromised?"

"William Harris was a chronic alcoholic and smoker. His lungs and liver were 'shit'—and that's coming from David's mouth. Besides that, he had an infected…uh, wound on his hand. It was probably about four to five days old."

"From when I bit him." Finally, Greg had something new with which to establish at least a vague timeline of that week. That meant that the bathtub incident occurred less than halfway through his experience, which seemed hard to believe. "What does this species look like?"

"Yellowish-tan, I think. Ugly little things if you ask me," Nick replied. Then, after a pause: "Why? Did you see it?"

Yes, and it talked. In fact, it had your voice. "I might have. Things are really fuzzy," Greg said instead.

There it was again. The other men exchanged a significant look that concerned Greg.

If it was up to Nick, they wouldn't bring it up. Not now, maybe not ever. But Brass was in charge of this interview, and despite knowing Greg for so long, his cop instincts honed in on irregularities in any interview, statement, or interrogation.

"You keep saying that, Greg, but then you explain things in great detail. Hey, there's nothing wrong with that," Brass held up both hands defensively when Greg's eyes narrowed. "Honestly, I'm impressed with how much you remember. I've never spoken with a vict—survivor that went through something similar and remembered so much."

Greg shrugged a shoulder. "I'm a CSI and a chemist. It's how my mind works, isn't it?"

"Sure." Brass stood and paced a bit. "I respect you, Greg, so I'll just be frank with you: you seem to be selectively forgetting certain details."

Feeling criticized and confused even though under everything he knew Brass was right, Greg looked to Nick imploringly. "Seriously? I was beaten, choked, and cut, repeatedly. I tried to pay attention, take everything in so that if I did make it out of there, I'd have information for you guys. Sorry I can't remember every damn thing through the concussions and blood loss."

Nick addressed Greg while simultaneously urging Brass back into his chair. "He doesn't mean it like that and you know it. Look, Whitney Adams is most likely dead. But the fact of the matter is that we still haven't found her, and if she is still out there, she's a danger to a lot of people. We just want every single detail that might help us."

"I'm giving you everything I can that has any relevance to finding her." Greg spoke slowly and carefully. "I just don't see how some of these questions pertain to building a case against Whitney. Unless, there's someone else you're building a case against?"

"There are no charges against you," Brass stated quickly. "I have to pick apart your story. You know I do. What else did you hear Adams and Harris say?"

Still on guard, Greg nonetheless answered willingly. "Harris didn't think that Sara would get anywhere on foot, but Whitney wanted to leave right away because she didn't want to get caught. She said that she knew someone that could get them a new vehicle, but she never mentioned where the end of the road would be. Harris dragged me out to load me up into the van. I actually tried to talk him into turning against Whitney; I thought it was going to be my last chance. Sara wouldn't know where to find me if they brought me away from the warehouse. Harris said that it was too late for him and that the authorities were already onto him. He did say that if he was in control of all this instead of Whitney, he wouldn't have made me suffer for so long. He hit me with a bat he'd pulled from the van and knocked me out."

Nick winced. They had finally reached the part of the story that everyone questioned the most. The team hoped that Greg could clear up some of the mystery surrounding the sedan's crash, but so far it was not sounding hopeful. If Greg was knocked unconscious again, they wondered how much more he could be expected to remember.

Surprising them both once more, Greg went on without any prompting.