The person I need to thank for this knows who she is...**cough cough A
Bloom** Anyway, R/R! (and I know I just put a chapter up...but oh well!)
Lots of various disclaimers...Let's see, I don't own CSI, I don't even own Push-Pop Inc. or whatever it's called, and I don't own the novel To Kill A Mockingbird though I wish I did because it is one of the most wonderful books I have ever read. If someone here hasn't read it...then what are you still doing here??? Don't read another word of this unworthy fan fiction! Go on.....scram! Go to the library or something...read it NOW. If you have read it...you may continue....
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Greg Sanders stared bleakly at a pile of neatly, precisely labeled evidence bags. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to touch them. Though Charlie was a regular around the whole lab, he always seemed to end up at "Uncle Gweggy's" door eventually. Greg kept a secret candy stash for the frequent visits, and Charlie could spend hours sitting there, swinging his short, stubby legs on a tall stool, sucking on a lollipop between conversations.
They always had something to talk about, Greg remembered fondly. From instructions on the finer points of playing an air guitar to a philosophical discussion of the superiority of grape push-pops, they were never short of intelligent subject matter. Catherine would say that it was because they had about the same mental capacity, but Greg loftily preferred to take that as a compliment to Charlie, rather than as any slight to himself or his own level of maturity.
He grinned as he remembered the first time he had picked up Charlie, and the baby had barfed all over him, and then looked up at his face and laughed delightedly.
He could practically see them parading solemnly down the hall in those outlandish, vibrant, gigantic hats made out of a whole bag of balloons. Or when Greg had pretended to have misplaced the results of an important test, which was Charlie's cue to come in exclaiming about all the confetti he had been able to make with a few pieces of paper he had seen lying around. Sara had almost murdered him, but it was worth it to see the look on her face as she was told the demise of her precious results.
Greg came out of his nostalgic reverie only to notice that silent tears were streaming down his face. Who'd want to abduct such an innocent child? Who would be cruel enough to harm Charlie? It shocked him every day when he saw the extent people went to. Perhaps he was too naïve, or willing to believe the best in everyone, but he could not imagine the evil person who would harm such a little boy.
Just then, Catherine walked by. She looked in consternation at Greg.
"Greg...Go home. It's been a rough night on all of us. You're no use to Charlie if you can't do your job."
"But..." Greg gestured helplessly at his evidence table.
"Go! I'll clear it with the boss, OK? Maybe get someone else to fill in for tonight." Greg thanked her, a little incoherently, and taking her advice, sped home.
By the time he stumbled forlornly into his house, he had decided he needed a distraction of some sort. A book maybe? Then, for some reason, two quotes came unbidden into his mind.
"That's what I thought too," he said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other?"
"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy...they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
Greg went to the bookshelf, and picked up Harper Lee's famous novel. He knew there would be no distractions tonight. And there would be no respite until he knew if this particular mockingbird was alive or dead. He sat down on the couch, with the book still in his hands, and let the memories and helpless rage overcome him.
Lots of various disclaimers...Let's see, I don't own CSI, I don't even own Push-Pop Inc. or whatever it's called, and I don't own the novel To Kill A Mockingbird though I wish I did because it is one of the most wonderful books I have ever read. If someone here hasn't read it...then what are you still doing here??? Don't read another word of this unworthy fan fiction! Go on.....scram! Go to the library or something...read it NOW. If you have read it...you may continue....
***********************************
Greg Sanders stared bleakly at a pile of neatly, precisely labeled evidence bags. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to touch them. Though Charlie was a regular around the whole lab, he always seemed to end up at "Uncle Gweggy's" door eventually. Greg kept a secret candy stash for the frequent visits, and Charlie could spend hours sitting there, swinging his short, stubby legs on a tall stool, sucking on a lollipop between conversations.
They always had something to talk about, Greg remembered fondly. From instructions on the finer points of playing an air guitar to a philosophical discussion of the superiority of grape push-pops, they were never short of intelligent subject matter. Catherine would say that it was because they had about the same mental capacity, but Greg loftily preferred to take that as a compliment to Charlie, rather than as any slight to himself or his own level of maturity.
He grinned as he remembered the first time he had picked up Charlie, and the baby had barfed all over him, and then looked up at his face and laughed delightedly.
He could practically see them parading solemnly down the hall in those outlandish, vibrant, gigantic hats made out of a whole bag of balloons. Or when Greg had pretended to have misplaced the results of an important test, which was Charlie's cue to come in exclaiming about all the confetti he had been able to make with a few pieces of paper he had seen lying around. Sara had almost murdered him, but it was worth it to see the look on her face as she was told the demise of her precious results.
Greg came out of his nostalgic reverie only to notice that silent tears were streaming down his face. Who'd want to abduct such an innocent child? Who would be cruel enough to harm Charlie? It shocked him every day when he saw the extent people went to. Perhaps he was too naïve, or willing to believe the best in everyone, but he could not imagine the evil person who would harm such a little boy.
Just then, Catherine walked by. She looked in consternation at Greg.
"Greg...Go home. It's been a rough night on all of us. You're no use to Charlie if you can't do your job."
"But..." Greg gestured helplessly at his evidence table.
"Go! I'll clear it with the boss, OK? Maybe get someone else to fill in for tonight." Greg thanked her, a little incoherently, and taking her advice, sped home.
By the time he stumbled forlornly into his house, he had decided he needed a distraction of some sort. A book maybe? Then, for some reason, two quotes came unbidden into his mind.
"That's what I thought too," he said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other?"
"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy...they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
Greg went to the bookshelf, and picked up Harper Lee's famous novel. He knew there would be no distractions tonight. And there would be no respite until he knew if this particular mockingbird was alive or dead. He sat down on the couch, with the book still in his hands, and let the memories and helpless rage overcome him.