XXI - GRISSOM AND GREG
Grissom gazed at Katie intently, not intending to make her squirm under his prolonged stare but managing to do just that. Katie looked decidedly uncomfortable; her face drawn as she nervously twirled her hair around her fingers, biting her lip. Behind Grissom, Warrick leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. Every time Katie glanced in his direction, she smiled softly. Grissom was almost positive that behind him, Warrick was smiling back.
"Katie, I'm going to show you and Nancy a couple of items we found at the crime scenes, and I'd like you to tell me if you recognize anything. Then I'm going to need to talk to you alone, Katie, about some of the things you spoke with Warrick about." Grissom smiled reassuringly at the young woman, sliding into an empty seat beside Brass and across the table from her, clearing his throat as he opened up a file folder he was holding.
"Have you ever seen this before?" He slid the note that had been left at Lifestyles a couple of days before the murders across the table. Katie looked at it curiously.
"It looks like something you'd make in an art class or school."
"It was left at Lifestyles a couple of days before Scotty - died." Grissom kept his tone neutral, his gaze shifting to Nancy subtly, acknowledging her silently. He didn't want to upset her by getting graphic about her brother's murder. "Have you ever seen it before?"
Katie shook her head, but Nancy piped up. "Momma Rebekah and some of the big girls made lots of stuff like this in home school."
"Lots of stuff like this?" Grissom smiled at the little girl seriously. "Did they make this one?"
Nancy shrugged. "I don't know. I can't read. But Momma Rebekah puts them all in the cubby in the school room."
Grissom cocked an eyebrow at Brass. "Guess we'll be going back to the commune."
Brass grunted. "Guess so. Shall I bring in the ladies for questioning as well?"
Grissom nodded, and Brass sighed.
"Mobley's gonna love this."
* * * * *
Nick was leaning against the door of the lounge, arms crossed casually, waiting for Catherine to fill her coffee travel mug. Beside her, Greg sniffed appreciatively before scowling at his Sobe Citrus drink.
"Where are you two off to?" he asked, his question for both Catherine and Nick.
Catherine sighed. "Back to the commune. New clues - picking up some more people. Lots of fun."
"Grissom's staying here - talking to Katie. Warrick and Sara have gone to work on the windows from Magikal," Nick added.
"And I'll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs." Greg mumbled under his breath. He quickly pasted a false smile on his face when Catherine turned a concerned gaze to him. "Joking! Joking! I'll keep running fingerprints - there still over 50 sets to compare."
Catherine sighed, a small frown on her face. "What you're doing here is invaluable Greg. I know you want to get out more, but you're not ready yet. Just be patient, it will happen."
"I know. I know. Health comes first, blah - blah - blah and yada - yada- yada, so on and so forth. I understand." Greg tried to keep his tone light, but neither Catherine nor Nick were fooled. Nick smiled at his friend in understanding.
"When you talk to Jansen tomorrow, ask him if you can go out to secured crime scenes - maybe he'll let you. In the meantime, we gotta roll Cath."
* * * * *
Warrick had taken Nancy at Catherine's suggestion back to her office, putting together a make-shift bed on the small sofa for the little girl. Since Lyndsey spent a lot of time there, Catherine had all the necessities.
Sara, standing in the doorway waiting for Warrick, watched him tuck the blanket around the tiny child, gently smoothing her hair back from her face, exhorting her to go to sleep. It was impossible to miss how attached Nancy had become to Warrick - and he too her - in the short time they had known each other.
"Goodnight kiss?" she asked sleepily, and Warrick, smilingly complied, kissing her gently on the forehead.
"You know I'm just down the hall, right? And when Grissom is finished with your sister I'll take you home."
"I know." Nancy's voice was sleepy. "Will you sing me a bedtime song?"
Warrick glanced sideways at Sara, slightly embarrassed, and shrugged. He was going to refuse, but the expectant look on Nancy's face made the words die in his throat.
"Sure. I'll sing you a song my Grams used to sign to my sister when she was little. It's called Lavender Blue. But you have to close your eyes while I sing, 'kay?"
Nancy nodded, her eyes already drifting shut, and Warrick started softly singing.
~Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If I were king, dilly, dilly
I'd need a queen
Who told me so, dilly, dilly
Who told me so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so
If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer "yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
You'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then I'll be king, dilly, dilly
And you'll be my queen
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then I'll be king, dilly, dilly
And you'll be my queen~
Nancy was asleep. Sighing softly, Warrick rose to his feet and turned towards the doorway. Sara was smiling at him gently, whispering as they left Catherine's office, "I didn't know you sang."
Warrick shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sara," but he smiled when he said this. "My Grams had me in singing in her church choir as soon as I was old enough to carry a tune."
"Huh. I didn't know you went to church."
"I don't. Not anymore, anyways," he opened the doorway to the lab they would be working in, quickly studying the glass Sara and Nick had already managed to piece together. "You guys have been doing a good job with this."
"Thanks. And don't change the subject. Why don't you go to church anymore?"
"I had a little falling out with God." Warrick's tone was carefully neutral. "Grams wasn't too pleased when I left."
"Would you ever go back?"
"What's with the questions, Sara?" he looked at her in annoyance. "Do you go to church?"
"Nope. Never have." Sara was looking at him seriously, her brown eyes probing. "I study religion, though - Christianity, Judaism, Muslim - all the others. I find it fascinating."
"Huh." Warrick's response was non-committal, and he started sorting through some of the larger pieces that hadn't been fit together yet. Sara worked beside him, silent for a few moments.
"So. Why did you leave?"
Warrick rolled his eyes. "Will you just let it go?"
He felt her shrug beside him. "Listen, we're friends right? Well, then? Before 20 minutes ago I never even knew you could sing, and I didn't know you had a sister. But Nancy - who you've only known for less than two days, knew. And I'll warrant Katie knows too. If you can tell virtual strangers, why can't you tell me?"
Warrick ran a hand across his hair in frustration. "Fine. I left because my sister was murdered on a church mission in South Africa. She was convinced God was calling her to go, so she went and died for her efforts. Happy?"
He was still looking at the glass when he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss, Warrick. That must have been hard. So, you blame God for your sisters' death?"
Warrick shrugged. "I blame the man that shot her because she was black. I don't know if I blame God anymore of not." He was silent for a few moments, brows thoughtfully furrowed. "So many terrible things are done in the name of religion - throughout history wars have been fought and people persecuted for their beliefs or non-beliefs; the color of their skin - sexual preference. When I was younger it was easier to blame God, but now that I'm older - I think I blame the people who twist religion to fit their own prejudices."
He felt Sara looking at him intently, and he turned to her. "I was angry about Delia for a long time. She was a beautiful girl - we were twins, and she and Grams were the only family I had. I've had her buried inside for a long time now, because remembering was just too painful. But I've been thinking about her a lot lately - and you know what I'm remembering?"
Sara shook her head softly.
"I'm remembering her smile and her laughter. I'm remembering how beautiful she always looked standing in the front of our church and singing for the congregation. I'm remembering how happy she was when she left for South Africa, convinced she was making the world a better place." Warrick smiled sadly at the memories flooding his mind, and Sara smiled back.
"Your memories of her keep her alive. It's good to remember."
"Yeah. It is." Warrick looked back to glass. "So. Should we get cracking here?"
* * * * *
Catherine and Nick were following an unhappy Rebekah to the small school room established at the commune. She had been extremely agitated when the two criminalists had returned to the commune, accusing them of harassing her 'family' and threatening not to comply. Nick had simply stared at her coldly until she had stopped talking.
"We have a warrant. So, we're going to search whether you want us here or not. That being said, if you take us where we want to go, we'll be able to leave all the quicker. Otherwise, we'll just have to search - everything. Right, Cath?"
Catherine nodded grimly. "All we're looking for right now is the school room. But this warrant gives us the right to search everywhere. You going to help us, or shall we start in your room?"
Rebekah had caved. Muttering under her breath, back ram-rod straight, she had indicated they should follow her. O'Reilly trailed a little behind Nick and Catherine, leaving several of his men to round up the women and children to transport them to the office for questioning.
Catherine realized Rebekah was leading them to the barn. Walking through the doors they quickly followed her up a thin set of rickety stairs and into the school room. Desks and play mats of various sizes lined the floors. Painted along one wall was the alphabet, and along the other the Ten Commandments. Colorful artwork hung everywhere, and the area was surprisingly clean, considering livestock occupied the bottom floor.
Leaving Rebakah to stand in the doorway, the two CSIs did a quick inspection of the room. Behind what was obviously the teachers desk, Nick found a small cubby with several notes in it - all made in the same fashion as the one found at Lifestyles.
Catherine, who was opening up the drawers on a large metal filing cabinet, made an interesting discovery of her own.
"Nick. Come here." Shining her flashlight into the drawer, she illuminated several different pamphlets, neatly stacked with elastic wrapped around them to separate them. Near the front was a pamphlet titled 'Minorities and the Mark of Cain.'
Nick sighed in disgust. "Looks familiar. See these other ones? ''Mysticism, New Age and the Devil' - 'Hitler Was Right' - 'The Case for Euthanizing Mixed-Race Children.'" His face tightened painfully, and his jaw was clenched. "I'm glad we came and left Warrick back at the lab. This is sick."
They quickly bagged what they had found, both hesitant to even touch the pamphlets almost as if they feared they would be contaminated. Nick also confiscated the computer and printer hooked up over in the corner. As he unhooked it, Catherine wandered over to the bookshelves, studying the titles. "I guess there're publishers for everything," she muttered under her breath. She turned to Nick and tossed over her shoulders, "All little kids would learn in this classroom is how to hate."
From her position at the doorway, Rebekah bristled. "Our children learn God's laws. We don't hate; we correct."
Catherine grabbed a book from the shelf, flipping through the pages of the booklet in disgust. It was a story, written for younger children and full of glossy illustrations, titled 'Why Timmy is Wrong'. The short summary on the back indicated it was a story to help explain to younger children why God viewed children of mixed-races and minorities as mistakes; wrong in nature. "You don't correct; you warp. You're brainwashing your children to grow up to be racists and religious extremists. It's sickening."
Rebekah shrugged. "You can think that all you want, but you don't know. Enoch says we are God's chosen people."
Nick grunted slightly as he stood, the printer in one arm and the CPU tucked firmly under the other. "I think God has better taste then that."
* * * * *
"Greg. Can I see you in my office for a minute?" Grissom's voice caught Greg slightly by surprise, and the young man was gratified his heart wasn't pounding quite as hard as it had when Dr. Robbins had surprised him just nights before.
"Sure thing, Grissom." Standing and stretching absently, he quickly scanned a new fingerprint and left the software running, before following Grissom down the hall and into his office.
He smiled nervously when Grissom closed the door and indicated for him to sit in one of the empty chair across from his desk. Sighing slightly, Grissom sank into the one beside it and looked at his hands.
After almost a minute had passed in dead silence, Greg decided to break the silence. "Well, if you're finished with me here I'll head back to the lab," he teased.
Grissom looked at him and barely cracked a smile. "Listen, Greg. I just wanted to talk to you about how you're doing. I don't know where to start."
"Then don't. Start I mean. Things are great." He pasted a patently false smile on his face.
"Don't lie to me, Greg. I know you too well, and you're putting on a good act - but I'm concerned."
Greg's smile faltered. "Act? What act?"
Grissom didn't respond for a few seconds, carefully considering his words. "You're pulling away from us. It's like you're shutting down; shutting off." He looked at Greg seriously as he said this, studying the young man's reaction and sighing at his quickly shuttered expression.
"Don't get me wrong, you still joke around. You're still the best lab tech I've ever had. But your - exuberance - is gone. And you might act happy, but you don't look happy - not where it counts."
"So, does this mean you want me to play Back Flag in the lab again?" Greg's tone was sarcastic.
"Listen, Greg. Sarcasm isn't going to help. But talking might. Do you want to talk to me about it?" Grissom's voice was gentle and understanding and Greg was scared to look at him. Instead, he stared intently at his knee, counting the little cross-weaves in the fabric of his jeans. Finally, he spoke.
"What do you want me to say? This is hard. It hurts. Sometimes I wish Oscar had just killed me and gotten it over with," his voice was broken.
"Don't say that, Greg. You don't want that."
"How do you know?" Greg looked at Grissom, sudden tears in his eyes. "I sure as hell don't want this!" he pointed to his chest emphatically. "You guys are all supportive now, but what happens when this condition interferes with my job? When I can't run a test for you because the electronic pulses are too high? When the defibrillator goes off in the field and you guys have to deal with me instead of processing a crime scene? What happens when I become a liability to you?" his voice suddenly became softer. "What happens when you don't want me anymore?"
Grissom looked at Greg with growing shock. "Greg. Listen to me. We already know there are certain tests you may not be able to run - we're aware of them, and we'll work around them. If something happens to you in the field, we'll deal with it. You have never been a liability to us and you never will be. And we will always want you here. There is nothing so big it cannot be overcome as long as your family is behind you. We're your family Greg. We're behind you."
"Every family I ever had sent me away. Why would you be any different?"
"We love you, Greg." Grissom smiled when Greg started. "I'm going to tell you something else - you may think it's better to build walls to keep us out, but those walls won't protect you. All they'll do is lock you away from life. Before you know it, twenty years will have passed, and you'll be - me."
Grissom leaned forwards, hands clasped and elbows propped on his knees. "I surrounded myself with walls too, thinking that I'd rather be lonely than risk being hurt. But that's not living, Greg. Life is risk. You taught me that - you and the rest of the team. I've been slowly tearing down my walls, and it's good to be living again. So don't start building yours."
"But - my heart -"
"Is still there, Greg. If it wasn't, why would you be trying so hard to protect it? You cannot break what you do not have."
Greg snorted wetly, rubbing the cuff of his lab coat across his eyes. "Yes, Buddha."
Grissom smiled, reaching out a hand and squeezing Greg's knee. "You see? Was that so hard?"
"I don't know," Greg shrugged and looked at Grissom, suddenly embarrassed. "Man, I'm cried out."
"I noticed. Listen, Greg - if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I will always be here for you. Okay?"
"Okay," Greg sighed. He looked at Grissom and smiled, suddenly, monstrously happy. "Okay."
________
Author's Notes: hey everyone. Thanks for your patience. I know I'm not knocking these out as fast as I usually do, but these chapters are intense and I pick them apart and re-write them each several times before I'm actually happy enough with them to post. PLUS - busy season is upon me - from now until Christmas, all hell breaks loose in my office, so I'm working 12 - 18 hours a day. Next chapter - a confrontation, Dr. Jansen, Alli at Greg's apartment.
In case anyone is wondering, the book I reference here from the school room is indeed a book - I've had the disgusting misfortune to have seen it once. It's really very sad that stuff like that can get published.
Grissom gazed at Katie intently, not intending to make her squirm under his prolonged stare but managing to do just that. Katie looked decidedly uncomfortable; her face drawn as she nervously twirled her hair around her fingers, biting her lip. Behind Grissom, Warrick leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. Every time Katie glanced in his direction, she smiled softly. Grissom was almost positive that behind him, Warrick was smiling back.
"Katie, I'm going to show you and Nancy a couple of items we found at the crime scenes, and I'd like you to tell me if you recognize anything. Then I'm going to need to talk to you alone, Katie, about some of the things you spoke with Warrick about." Grissom smiled reassuringly at the young woman, sliding into an empty seat beside Brass and across the table from her, clearing his throat as he opened up a file folder he was holding.
"Have you ever seen this before?" He slid the note that had been left at Lifestyles a couple of days before the murders across the table. Katie looked at it curiously.
"It looks like something you'd make in an art class or school."
"It was left at Lifestyles a couple of days before Scotty - died." Grissom kept his tone neutral, his gaze shifting to Nancy subtly, acknowledging her silently. He didn't want to upset her by getting graphic about her brother's murder. "Have you ever seen it before?"
Katie shook her head, but Nancy piped up. "Momma Rebekah and some of the big girls made lots of stuff like this in home school."
"Lots of stuff like this?" Grissom smiled at the little girl seriously. "Did they make this one?"
Nancy shrugged. "I don't know. I can't read. But Momma Rebekah puts them all in the cubby in the school room."
Grissom cocked an eyebrow at Brass. "Guess we'll be going back to the commune."
Brass grunted. "Guess so. Shall I bring in the ladies for questioning as well?"
Grissom nodded, and Brass sighed.
"Mobley's gonna love this."
* * * * *
Nick was leaning against the door of the lounge, arms crossed casually, waiting for Catherine to fill her coffee travel mug. Beside her, Greg sniffed appreciatively before scowling at his Sobe Citrus drink.
"Where are you two off to?" he asked, his question for both Catherine and Nick.
Catherine sighed. "Back to the commune. New clues - picking up some more people. Lots of fun."
"Grissom's staying here - talking to Katie. Warrick and Sara have gone to work on the windows from Magikal," Nick added.
"And I'll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs." Greg mumbled under his breath. He quickly pasted a false smile on his face when Catherine turned a concerned gaze to him. "Joking! Joking! I'll keep running fingerprints - there still over 50 sets to compare."
Catherine sighed, a small frown on her face. "What you're doing here is invaluable Greg. I know you want to get out more, but you're not ready yet. Just be patient, it will happen."
"I know. I know. Health comes first, blah - blah - blah and yada - yada- yada, so on and so forth. I understand." Greg tried to keep his tone light, but neither Catherine nor Nick were fooled. Nick smiled at his friend in understanding.
"When you talk to Jansen tomorrow, ask him if you can go out to secured crime scenes - maybe he'll let you. In the meantime, we gotta roll Cath."
* * * * *
Warrick had taken Nancy at Catherine's suggestion back to her office, putting together a make-shift bed on the small sofa for the little girl. Since Lyndsey spent a lot of time there, Catherine had all the necessities.
Sara, standing in the doorway waiting for Warrick, watched him tuck the blanket around the tiny child, gently smoothing her hair back from her face, exhorting her to go to sleep. It was impossible to miss how attached Nancy had become to Warrick - and he too her - in the short time they had known each other.
"Goodnight kiss?" she asked sleepily, and Warrick, smilingly complied, kissing her gently on the forehead.
"You know I'm just down the hall, right? And when Grissom is finished with your sister I'll take you home."
"I know." Nancy's voice was sleepy. "Will you sing me a bedtime song?"
Warrick glanced sideways at Sara, slightly embarrassed, and shrugged. He was going to refuse, but the expectant look on Nancy's face made the words die in his throat.
"Sure. I'll sing you a song my Grams used to sign to my sister when she was little. It's called Lavender Blue. But you have to close your eyes while I sing, 'kay?"
Nancy nodded, her eyes already drifting shut, and Warrick started softly singing.
~Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If I were king, dilly, dilly
I'd need a queen
Who told me so, dilly, dilly
Who told me so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so
If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer "yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
You'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then I'll be king, dilly, dilly
And you'll be my queen
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then I'll be king, dilly, dilly
And you'll be my queen~
Nancy was asleep. Sighing softly, Warrick rose to his feet and turned towards the doorway. Sara was smiling at him gently, whispering as they left Catherine's office, "I didn't know you sang."
Warrick shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sara," but he smiled when he said this. "My Grams had me in singing in her church choir as soon as I was old enough to carry a tune."
"Huh. I didn't know you went to church."
"I don't. Not anymore, anyways," he opened the doorway to the lab they would be working in, quickly studying the glass Sara and Nick had already managed to piece together. "You guys have been doing a good job with this."
"Thanks. And don't change the subject. Why don't you go to church anymore?"
"I had a little falling out with God." Warrick's tone was carefully neutral. "Grams wasn't too pleased when I left."
"Would you ever go back?"
"What's with the questions, Sara?" he looked at her in annoyance. "Do you go to church?"
"Nope. Never have." Sara was looking at him seriously, her brown eyes probing. "I study religion, though - Christianity, Judaism, Muslim - all the others. I find it fascinating."
"Huh." Warrick's response was non-committal, and he started sorting through some of the larger pieces that hadn't been fit together yet. Sara worked beside him, silent for a few moments.
"So. Why did you leave?"
Warrick rolled his eyes. "Will you just let it go?"
He felt her shrug beside him. "Listen, we're friends right? Well, then? Before 20 minutes ago I never even knew you could sing, and I didn't know you had a sister. But Nancy - who you've only known for less than two days, knew. And I'll warrant Katie knows too. If you can tell virtual strangers, why can't you tell me?"
Warrick ran a hand across his hair in frustration. "Fine. I left because my sister was murdered on a church mission in South Africa. She was convinced God was calling her to go, so she went and died for her efforts. Happy?"
He was still looking at the glass when he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss, Warrick. That must have been hard. So, you blame God for your sisters' death?"
Warrick shrugged. "I blame the man that shot her because she was black. I don't know if I blame God anymore of not." He was silent for a few moments, brows thoughtfully furrowed. "So many terrible things are done in the name of religion - throughout history wars have been fought and people persecuted for their beliefs or non-beliefs; the color of their skin - sexual preference. When I was younger it was easier to blame God, but now that I'm older - I think I blame the people who twist religion to fit their own prejudices."
He felt Sara looking at him intently, and he turned to her. "I was angry about Delia for a long time. She was a beautiful girl - we were twins, and she and Grams were the only family I had. I've had her buried inside for a long time now, because remembering was just too painful. But I've been thinking about her a lot lately - and you know what I'm remembering?"
Sara shook her head softly.
"I'm remembering her smile and her laughter. I'm remembering how beautiful she always looked standing in the front of our church and singing for the congregation. I'm remembering how happy she was when she left for South Africa, convinced she was making the world a better place." Warrick smiled sadly at the memories flooding his mind, and Sara smiled back.
"Your memories of her keep her alive. It's good to remember."
"Yeah. It is." Warrick looked back to glass. "So. Should we get cracking here?"
* * * * *
Catherine and Nick were following an unhappy Rebekah to the small school room established at the commune. She had been extremely agitated when the two criminalists had returned to the commune, accusing them of harassing her 'family' and threatening not to comply. Nick had simply stared at her coldly until she had stopped talking.
"We have a warrant. So, we're going to search whether you want us here or not. That being said, if you take us where we want to go, we'll be able to leave all the quicker. Otherwise, we'll just have to search - everything. Right, Cath?"
Catherine nodded grimly. "All we're looking for right now is the school room. But this warrant gives us the right to search everywhere. You going to help us, or shall we start in your room?"
Rebekah had caved. Muttering under her breath, back ram-rod straight, she had indicated they should follow her. O'Reilly trailed a little behind Nick and Catherine, leaving several of his men to round up the women and children to transport them to the office for questioning.
Catherine realized Rebekah was leading them to the barn. Walking through the doors they quickly followed her up a thin set of rickety stairs and into the school room. Desks and play mats of various sizes lined the floors. Painted along one wall was the alphabet, and along the other the Ten Commandments. Colorful artwork hung everywhere, and the area was surprisingly clean, considering livestock occupied the bottom floor.
Leaving Rebakah to stand in the doorway, the two CSIs did a quick inspection of the room. Behind what was obviously the teachers desk, Nick found a small cubby with several notes in it - all made in the same fashion as the one found at Lifestyles.
Catherine, who was opening up the drawers on a large metal filing cabinet, made an interesting discovery of her own.
"Nick. Come here." Shining her flashlight into the drawer, she illuminated several different pamphlets, neatly stacked with elastic wrapped around them to separate them. Near the front was a pamphlet titled 'Minorities and the Mark of Cain.'
Nick sighed in disgust. "Looks familiar. See these other ones? ''Mysticism, New Age and the Devil' - 'Hitler Was Right' - 'The Case for Euthanizing Mixed-Race Children.'" His face tightened painfully, and his jaw was clenched. "I'm glad we came and left Warrick back at the lab. This is sick."
They quickly bagged what they had found, both hesitant to even touch the pamphlets almost as if they feared they would be contaminated. Nick also confiscated the computer and printer hooked up over in the corner. As he unhooked it, Catherine wandered over to the bookshelves, studying the titles. "I guess there're publishers for everything," she muttered under her breath. She turned to Nick and tossed over her shoulders, "All little kids would learn in this classroom is how to hate."
From her position at the doorway, Rebekah bristled. "Our children learn God's laws. We don't hate; we correct."
Catherine grabbed a book from the shelf, flipping through the pages of the booklet in disgust. It was a story, written for younger children and full of glossy illustrations, titled 'Why Timmy is Wrong'. The short summary on the back indicated it was a story to help explain to younger children why God viewed children of mixed-races and minorities as mistakes; wrong in nature. "You don't correct; you warp. You're brainwashing your children to grow up to be racists and religious extremists. It's sickening."
Rebekah shrugged. "You can think that all you want, but you don't know. Enoch says we are God's chosen people."
Nick grunted slightly as he stood, the printer in one arm and the CPU tucked firmly under the other. "I think God has better taste then that."
* * * * *
"Greg. Can I see you in my office for a minute?" Grissom's voice caught Greg slightly by surprise, and the young man was gratified his heart wasn't pounding quite as hard as it had when Dr. Robbins had surprised him just nights before.
"Sure thing, Grissom." Standing and stretching absently, he quickly scanned a new fingerprint and left the software running, before following Grissom down the hall and into his office.
He smiled nervously when Grissom closed the door and indicated for him to sit in one of the empty chair across from his desk. Sighing slightly, Grissom sank into the one beside it and looked at his hands.
After almost a minute had passed in dead silence, Greg decided to break the silence. "Well, if you're finished with me here I'll head back to the lab," he teased.
Grissom looked at him and barely cracked a smile. "Listen, Greg. I just wanted to talk to you about how you're doing. I don't know where to start."
"Then don't. Start I mean. Things are great." He pasted a patently false smile on his face.
"Don't lie to me, Greg. I know you too well, and you're putting on a good act - but I'm concerned."
Greg's smile faltered. "Act? What act?"
Grissom didn't respond for a few seconds, carefully considering his words. "You're pulling away from us. It's like you're shutting down; shutting off." He looked at Greg seriously as he said this, studying the young man's reaction and sighing at his quickly shuttered expression.
"Don't get me wrong, you still joke around. You're still the best lab tech I've ever had. But your - exuberance - is gone. And you might act happy, but you don't look happy - not where it counts."
"So, does this mean you want me to play Back Flag in the lab again?" Greg's tone was sarcastic.
"Listen, Greg. Sarcasm isn't going to help. But talking might. Do you want to talk to me about it?" Grissom's voice was gentle and understanding and Greg was scared to look at him. Instead, he stared intently at his knee, counting the little cross-weaves in the fabric of his jeans. Finally, he spoke.
"What do you want me to say? This is hard. It hurts. Sometimes I wish Oscar had just killed me and gotten it over with," his voice was broken.
"Don't say that, Greg. You don't want that."
"How do you know?" Greg looked at Grissom, sudden tears in his eyes. "I sure as hell don't want this!" he pointed to his chest emphatically. "You guys are all supportive now, but what happens when this condition interferes with my job? When I can't run a test for you because the electronic pulses are too high? When the defibrillator goes off in the field and you guys have to deal with me instead of processing a crime scene? What happens when I become a liability to you?" his voice suddenly became softer. "What happens when you don't want me anymore?"
Grissom looked at Greg with growing shock. "Greg. Listen to me. We already know there are certain tests you may not be able to run - we're aware of them, and we'll work around them. If something happens to you in the field, we'll deal with it. You have never been a liability to us and you never will be. And we will always want you here. There is nothing so big it cannot be overcome as long as your family is behind you. We're your family Greg. We're behind you."
"Every family I ever had sent me away. Why would you be any different?"
"We love you, Greg." Grissom smiled when Greg started. "I'm going to tell you something else - you may think it's better to build walls to keep us out, but those walls won't protect you. All they'll do is lock you away from life. Before you know it, twenty years will have passed, and you'll be - me."
Grissom leaned forwards, hands clasped and elbows propped on his knees. "I surrounded myself with walls too, thinking that I'd rather be lonely than risk being hurt. But that's not living, Greg. Life is risk. You taught me that - you and the rest of the team. I've been slowly tearing down my walls, and it's good to be living again. So don't start building yours."
"But - my heart -"
"Is still there, Greg. If it wasn't, why would you be trying so hard to protect it? You cannot break what you do not have."
Greg snorted wetly, rubbing the cuff of his lab coat across his eyes. "Yes, Buddha."
Grissom smiled, reaching out a hand and squeezing Greg's knee. "You see? Was that so hard?"
"I don't know," Greg shrugged and looked at Grissom, suddenly embarrassed. "Man, I'm cried out."
"I noticed. Listen, Greg - if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I will always be here for you. Okay?"
"Okay," Greg sighed. He looked at Grissom and smiled, suddenly, monstrously happy. "Okay."
________
Author's Notes: hey everyone. Thanks for your patience. I know I'm not knocking these out as fast as I usually do, but these chapters are intense and I pick them apart and re-write them each several times before I'm actually happy enough with them to post. PLUS - busy season is upon me - from now until Christmas, all hell breaks loose in my office, so I'm working 12 - 18 hours a day. Next chapter - a confrontation, Dr. Jansen, Alli at Greg's apartment.
In case anyone is wondering, the book I reference here from the school room is indeed a book - I've had the disgusting misfortune to have seen it once. It's really very sad that stuff like that can get published.