Author's Note: Whoo Hoo! Evil school is over for a whole glorious month! Lots of time to finish this one (yes, it's winding down). Plus, I had a very cool idea for a new story; look for that soon.
A little side note to Stripped: great review! Ya know, I would love to write you in to save the day…but then I would have to right myself in so that we could fight for Greg. I don't know if a cat fight is what this story needs!
**They don't belong to me – I berate the cruel fates for this!
* * *
Greg could barely breathe. King's grip was practically cutting off all of his air supply. Of course, breathing properly seemed to be the least of his concerns at the moment. He was more preoccupied with the loaded gun that was pressed against his temple. He was furious with himself for allowing the situation to come to this.
* * *
Minutes earlier….
Greg had no idea that he was being watched by the very person from whom he was trying to escape. He was standing in the barely lit hallway, debating his options when King had found him. Unaware of the presence of another living being, Greg cursed loudly. This hallway ended in what had to be the tenth dead end he had encountered. He began to backtrack. He stretched out his arms, trying to find his way down this maze. Unlike King, he didn't have a mental map of every twist and turn. His eyes weren't familiar to the seemingly impermeable darkness. He would gladly take the phosphorescent glow that the lights of the DNA lab emitted any day.
He continued to walk along feeling his way down the wall. The cement was cold, damp, slimy…. His internal analysis of the surface of the walls clicked off almost immediately. He was expecting to feel the rough texture of the wall when his hands came into contact with something else. Something warm. Something human.
Before his brain could process the information that he had just walked right into something that was very much alive, and very much vindictive, the person had grabbed him. King had pulled Greg towards him, pressing a hand tightly over his mouth to keep him from crying out. Greg had struggled momentarily but quickly realized the futility of his actions. The man was far stronger than Greg, and he was armed. Greg had ceased his struggles and breathed hard through his nose as he tried to quell the wave of panic that was sweeping over him.
"Well, well. We meet again Mr. Sanders. And once again, it seems that you are going to be my little insurance policy. Isn't it funny how we've come full circle in such a short period of time? Of course, this time, I won't allow you, or any of your stupid little friends, to play me for a fool. Now move!" With that, King shifted his grip away from Greg's mouth to his neck and forced him headlong into the darkness.
* * *
Which is how they ended up exactly where they were now. Standing on the loading dock, with police officers aiming their weapons at King. Greg scanned the scene. He saw Brass yelling something into a walkie talkie. Probably trying to get men into position to take out King, Greg thought. As his eyes continued to sweep the crowd he found the people he had most wanted to find. His team mates. Oh sure, he wasn't officially part of the team. Not really. He wasn't out in the field, but he knew, as they did, that without his contributions they would not be able to solve cases nearly as efficiently.
He saw Sara, a look of fear mixed with hostility on her face. Her eyes never left King and she tracked his every movement with her gun. There was Catherine, a look of fierce determination on her face. The mother of the team, she had that ferociously protective instinct and Greg had to admit that he was kind of flattered that she felt that way for him. There was Warrick, who looked like he was just waiting for King to give him a reason to fire his weapon. There was Grissom, looking surprisingly calm, despite the situation. Of course, that didn't surprise Greg. Grissom never panicked. You could tell him that there was a lion loose in the lab and his only reply would be to keep the doors shut and not take any meat out of the refrigerator.
Then there was Nick. He had been pulled behind Warrick the minute King had emerged from the shadows. There was a look of complete helplessness on his face. He was unarmed and there was nothing he could do except hope that Brass and his men would be able to take control of the situation.
"King! Let him go!" Brass shouted to the man, who merely laughed.
"Or you'll do what? I am the one with the ability to spray his blood across your faces. I am in control here!"
Grissom spoke with a quiet conviction. "No, you're not."
King looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"You're not in control here" King opened his mouth to object, but Grissom continued. "Yes we all know that you have the gun, and yes we are all too aware that you can pull the trigger. But you're not in control. You see, you're buddy Al – he's the one who told us where to find you by the way – says that you're sick. You may be in control of this situation, but you aren't in control of your body. And in the grand scheme of things, I'd say that should be your bigger concern."
King had flinched at the mention of his illness. His friends still didn't have any idea how sick he was. No one did. His frustration began to mount, and for the first time, his polished demeanor began to crumble.
"You want to know something? You think you're so smart don't you? You come out here, and you think that by mentioning my illness, I'll just let my guard down so your friend can get away? Well let me tell you something Mr. –"
"Grissom"
"Ok, Mr. Grissom. Try this: I am not merely sick. I am dying. The doctor found a tumour the size of a lemon in the back of my skull. It's wrapped itself around my brainstem. There is no operation that can save me. There is no medication that can ease my pain."
King paced a few steps, dragging Greg with him. Despite the danger this man posed to him, Greg's compassionate nature dictated that he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. He had no idea what it must be like to know that you were dying, and to know that there was absolutely nothing that anyone could do for you. Before he could give this much more thought, King began to speak again, his voice becoming more and more hysterical with each word.
"You don't know how this feels! I wake up each morning and go to bed each night with the same excruciating pain radiating throughout my head. The only way I can describe it is like someone has taken a corkscrew and is slowly turning it so that it digs deeper and deeper into my head. The only thing that makes me feel better is knowing that it will be over soon. I pray for death. I robbed the bank because I wanted to make the last days of my life as comfortable as possible. I was supposed to be in Fiji! But life has a way of kicking you when you're already down, doesn't it? So going back to your earlier statement about control, you're right: I am not in control of my body. I know exactly what is happening to it though. And I also know that because of my body's death sentence, I have nothing to lose by killing this kid."
Nick shot a desperate look at Grissom. King was clearly at the point of no return. He was going to die anyways. And Nick was terrified that he might take Greg down with him. A man who doesn't fear death is invincible. The consequences of his actions no longer matter, and he can do anything without remorse. Nick wanted so badly to jump up there and pull Greg away from this man. He couldn't stand the thought that Greg might die before he ever got a chance to apologize. Grissom was trying to think of something to say when King spoke again.
King had reached his breaking point. He was ready for it to be over. The only thing that would give him satisfaction now was killing this little punk who had made him look like a fool during the last few days of his life. Greg had to pay.
"Gentleman, I am sorry to cut this short but, I think it's time that we stopped the chit chat and moved things along. I know how this story goes. You are going to try and talk me out of killing him; all the while you will be moving a tactical team into position to take me out. You will do so, Greg will live and the story will have its happy ending. Well, this is MY story, and I think it's going to end a little differently. In my version, Greg takes a bullet to the head at close range, and then I turn the gun on myself."
This isn't happening. This is NOT happening Greg silently repeated these words over and over. He felt King tightened the grip on his neck, heard the gun cock in his ear. Oh my God. He's really going to do it. He's really going to pull the trigger. Greg wanted to cry out to Nick, to tell him he was sorry, but King's arm was crushing his windpipe. It looked like King was in control after all.
King spoke for the last time. "Well Greg, its been fun. I wish I knew the sign for 'You're dead' but I guess Nick will have to learn that one his own. Say good-"
King broke off suddenly as a blinding wave of pain tore through him. He released his grip for a split second to grab his head, which felt like it was going to split in two. Greg seized the opportunity and wrenched himself away from his captor. He pulled away so fast that he lost his balance and sprawled across the top of the metal stairs that would have lead him to safety. King recovered in time to see the young man trying to scramble to his feet. Rage surged through him. He would not be denied this last indulgence in his life. He turned to Greg, took aim and-
BANG!
Greg stared at King, a dazed expression on his face, not quite comprehending what had just happened. King stared back, that cold, evil smile emerging on his face.
Then he fell to the ground. Dead.
He had been shot by Brass, and not a moment to soon. Greg found his legs and forced himself to make his way down the stairs. His heart was still racing and he felt like he might throw up. But at that moment, he was glad that he could feel anything at all. Grissom was the first to reach him.
"Are you OK?" His hand grasped the back of Greg's neck, his trained eyes scanning for any signs of injury.
Greg grasped his arm and nodded. "I'm fine." He looked back at King's body. "I guess he got what he wanted. No more pain". Grissom simply smiled a sad sort of smile at the young man.
"Greg! Greg!" Nick was yelling and trying to push his way through to his friend. He reached him after what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few seconds. He grabbed Greg's arms.
"I'm sorry!" For the second time that evening Nick found himself talking in tandem as both he and Greg apologized at the same time.
"What do you have to be sorry about? It was my fault that you got involved in the first place. I'm sorry that I blew our cover. I'm sorry that I left you when we were escaping. And I'm sorry that you got dragged into all of this." Greg didn't understand why Nick felt he owed him an apology.
Nick shook his head. "Don't you dare apologize. This is all my fault. It was my dopey plan that got us into this mess, and I am so sorry that I left you in there. I just didn't know what else to do".
Greg flashed his friend a reassuring smile. "Let's call it even. Oh but do me one favour?"
"Name it."
"Don't ever ask me to go to the bank with you again!"