Author's Note: Ummmm…..sorry? I guess that is kind of inadequate but that's all I've got. I hated leaving you guys hanging like that, but the pool (the evil, evil pool) refused to relinquish me from its chlorinated clutches. This has resulted in me working ever single day for the last three and a half weeks. So again I am sorry, and I hope that this makes up for it. One thing that hasn't changed is that I still own nothing.
* * *
"Where the hell did Greg go?"
Warrick asked the question to the empty passenger seat of his car and instantly looked around to see if any passersby had noticed. He was acutely aware that a sure warning sign of insanity was talking to oneself. However, he reasoned, you didn't really need to be concerned by asking questions to yourself; you needed to worry when you started answering. He desperately wished that he didn't have to ask this particular question. He didn't understand where Greg could be. He wouldn't have gone out, not in his state of mind. If he was at home, he surely would have picked up his phone.
Unless he's avoiding you, the little voice in his head whispered. Warrick ignored the inner chiding. This wasn't his fault, not really. Ok, maybe he had come across more forceful than necessary, and maybe he hadn't been terribly sympathetic to Greg's plight, but he was one of the good guys here.
Are you? fired back the little voice. Warrick frowned. What did that mean?
Maybe you're more concerned with looking like the upstanding one than you are with helping a friend.
Well now that was silly - wasn't it? Warrick tried to think back to his emotions and actions over the last twenty-four hours. Sure he may have tried to act extra controlled but that was only because they were facing a situation that lacked any semblance of control. And yeah he had been hesitant to speak up in Greg's defense but that too was understandable. He didn't think Greg was right by any stretch of the imagination. They all knew that. He had to stand behind the team.
Jeez, when did you become such a little lap dog?
Hey! This is what I really believe, Warrick thought angrily to himself. He was annoyed with the little voice now. He wasn't just trying to make himself look better in the eyes of the team. He had no reason to.
Oh no? challenged the little voice. So you aren't trying to make up for your previous screw ups?
Like what? Warrick thought crossly.
Like your gambling problem? Or the fact that you compromised a highly important case for some personal gain?
Warrick hesitated. There were incidents in his not so recent past that he was in the doghouse for. He had been carrying the guilt of his mistakes around with him for some time now. But surely he wasn't trying to divert the team's anger and frustration away from him during a time of crisis? He had to admit that this accident had certainly shifted much of the accusatory glances off of him and on to Greg. But he wouldn't take advantage of that, he was sure of it.
If that's what helps you sleep at night.
He was growing weary of the little voice now. He wanted to believe that he was being the best possible friend he could be to Greg given the circumstances that they were in. The little voice was making it harder and harder to do that. It was drawing on all his doubts that he had about the way in which he was dealing with the situation. He thought he was doing the right thing by remaining firm in his beliefs but the flaws in his plan were becoming clear. Greg was more withdrawn then he ought to be. Any fool could see that he was not dealing well with this at all. He needed someone to remain objective, someone who would listen to him without passing judgment on him. Then there was the matter of the investigation. Greg needed people on his end of the case who would move heaven and earth to find an alternative explanation for what had happened. Right now all he had was Catherine and Brass, who were great investigators but hard-nosed critics. Greg needed someone on his side that could see past the mistakes and could help him sort through the mess that his life had become. The outcome may not be the desired one, but at least he would be able to say that he had one true friend who stuck through it with him.
But instead of being that friend, you're sitting here, assuming somebody else will take that responsibility?
That's not true, Warrick thought. He wanted to help Greg, he really did. It was just that…..
You're afraid of what Grissom will say.
Warrick flinched slightly. That struck a nerve. He was afraid of what Grissom would say. Warrick knew that anyone who even looked like they may be siding with Greg would face the wrath of Gil Grissom. Warrick wasn't so sure he could do that. He didn't think he wanted to be in Grissom's bad books. He had worked so hard to earn the man's respect and it was difficult to fathom throwing it all away to help someone else.
Well that's it then, the little voice said coolly. You're selfish.
"Shut up!" Warrick yelled out loud then. A woman climbing into the car two spots over from him gave him a scandalized look. Warrick felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. Thankfully, he phone rang at that moment, saving him from further arguments with himself.
Warrick answered his phone with a gruff and slightly flustered hello. He listened for a moment and then drew in a sharp breath. He murmured a hurried thanks to the person on the other end and hung up. He looked at his watch and then made a phone call of his own. Trying hard to keep his voice neutral, he made an inquiry that would tell him exactly what kind of deadline he was on. He listened, his panic mounting with each word. He made up some excuse to get off the phone and threw the car into gear. He was going to be cutting it so close.
He just prayed he wasn't too late.
* * *
The young man stood shivering in the quickly dropping temperature. It looked like a chill was moving in for the second night in a row. Yet he knew that his trembling was not only a response to the cool air. He was trembling because he was risking an awful lot right now. If he didn't play these cards right, he was going to make matters a lot worse for everyone involved. He didn't know why he cared so much. He didn't owe any of them anything, yet here he was, ready and willing to make what could well be either the best decision or the biggest mistake of his life. A set of headlights swept across the deserted back entrance where he stood. His heart stopped for a half a second. What if it was them? He was relieved when the figure climbed out of the car and started walking towards him. This man was alone. His heart resumed its normal rhythms. The man who was approaching glanced at his watch and quickened his pace. He reached the young man's side and studied his face in the dim light. The stranger could be trusted.
"What happened?"
The young man sighed.
"I got a phone call from your colleague just before I spoke to you. He explained what information he was after and asked me what I knew. I told him the truth: that I don't know any details that I didn't find out second hand. He asked if I would enquire if anyone knew who he was talking about. As soon as I heard the description, I knew. Of course, I didn't say that. I told the man he was welcome to come on down and talk to the others. But I also knew that I couldn't let this happen. I remembered the name he had said earlier, and a couple of phone calls later, I tracked you down. And here we are." The young man looked up expectantly, hoping for praise and fearing reprimand.
"Where is he?" was the next question. "We don't have much time".
The stranger, a young man named Jack Edmonds led the way into The Broken Barstool. Warrick Brown followed him, trying to prepare some sort of adequate response that would not draw any attention to them. Jack pointed to a booth near the back of the bar. Warrick drew nearer and saw the sight that he had feared.
Greg was slumped to the side in the booth, clearly intoxicated. There had to be six different bottles around him, as well as several glasses that had contained the stronger drinks. Jack explained that Greg had been drinking for the last hour straight, until Jack had ordered him cut off. Jack had been about to call a cab when the phone rang. It was Brass on the other end, asking if anyone had been working the night before who would recognize a man who was being investigated on alcohol related charges. The description he gave was Greg's. Jack understood that Greg's pain went far beyond the events of the previous evening; otherwise he would have never come back. You don't become a bartender and not learn how to read people, Jack explained. He had known that Greg needed help. He recalled that Greg had mentioned Warrick's name, as well as the crime lab during casual conversation while he was still sober. Jack made some phone calls and using a little bit of deception, managed to get Warrick's cell phone number.
Now here they were.
Warrick really wanted to rage at Greg and find out what was going on with him, but now was not the time. He had to get Greg out of here before Brass and Catherine came in. He knew that he was interfering with a criminal investigation but he didn't much care at the moment. The little voice had accused him of being selfish earlier. Warrick realized now that the voice was his conscience and he didn't want to be the one who let Greg down. He thanked Jack for the risk he took. Jack only smiled and urged Warrick to hurry. Warrick grabbed Greg's arm and forcibly pulled him from the booth. Greg let out a rumble of complaint.
"Whaddya think you're doin'?" he slurred.
"Saving your life, now MOVE!" Warrick snapped. He half dragged, half carried Greg from the bar and out to the waiting car. He pushed Greg into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. Greg was resting his head on the window, completely oblivious to the world at that moment. Warrick quickly hopped in the driver's side and sped from the lot.
They didn't leave a moment too soon. Catherine and Brass were just entering the bar as the Tahoe disappeared from sight.
* * *
This is not about trying to go back in time
This is not about where I'll be a year down the line
It's just moment to moment
Surviving somehow
This is not about then, this is just about now
("Just About Now", Faith Hill)
* * *
Warrick was pacing Greg's kitchen, trying very hard not to grab the pot from the counter and hurl it at the young man's head. He must have had more self-restraint than he thought because thus far he had managed to not completely lose it. He was quietly contained the car ride home and he hadn't pushed Greg headlong through the front door as he had thought he would. Greg sensed that Warrick was little more than a ticking time bomb, as he remained quiet and struggled hard to find some ounce of coherency before he spoke. He watched Warrick warily as the man paced like a tiger that was awaiting feeding. Greg tried the only tactic that made sense.
"Well thanks for your help. I guess I'll just head off to bed…"
"SIT DOWN!"
The words were not spoken but rather roared. Even in his alcohol induced fog, Greg recognized a warning sign when he saw one. Warrick pointed to the couch and glared at the young man. Greg stumbled wearily over to it. Warrick didn't speak as he made a cup of strong black coffee and all but slammed it down in front of Greg.
"Drink" he said coldly. "And listen."
Greg obliged as Warrick began to speak in a voice that was mechanical and distant. He sounded far too calm, even to Greg's ears.
"I am only going to say this once and after that you are on your own. Tonight was the final straw Greg. I was sitting in my car trying to get in touch with you and all I could think is that I had somehow failed you as a friend. Then I received a phone call telling me that you were practically passed out in the bar where this whole mess started. Something became very clear to me as I rushed over there so that Brass and Catherine wouldn't find you. I didn't fail you: you failed me. You failed the team. And most of all, you failed yourself. I am so angry at you right now that you can't even begin to imagine it. I could yell at you, I could throw things at you, I could even hit you. But it wouldn't matter. Because you don't care anymore. If you did, then you would have never allowed things to escalate this far. You would have never gotten behind the wheel of that car and you certainly wouldn't have gone back to that bar again tonight. I don't know how much of this is penetrating that thick skull of yours, or how much you'll even remember when you sober up. If nothing else, remember this: You are a failure. It pains me to say it, but until you recognize and try to deal with this, you are nothing but a failure."
Warrick stood to go.
"Wait!" Greg jumped to his feet and instantly regretted the action. He lurched and barely made it to the kitchen before vomiting miserably into the sink. When he turned back around, Warrick could see the tears on his cheeks. Greg slumped to the floor and his shoulders began to shake. He looked so small and pathetic that Warrick couldn't help it. He sank to the floor beside Greg and forced the younger man to look at him.
"Greg, what happened to you? When did we lose you?"
Greg let out a rough cough. "I've been gone so long that I don't even know anymore. I just know that I seem to have lost myself and I don't know how to get back. And I'm scared…" he trailed off as a new round of sobs overtook him. Warrick felt the slightest twinge of guilt. Greg was going through hard times and he was on the verge of losing it completely.
"Greg I want to help you, I really do. But I can't when you continue to engage in such destructive behavior. Do you have any idea of what would have happened if Catherine had found you at the bar tonight?"
"Don't you understand?! It wouldn't have mattered! I am already going to pay for this. I just didn't want to feel anything anymore. This is all wrong. It wasn't supposed to end like this."
Warrick was confused. "Greg I don't think I understand. What wasn't supposed to end like this?"
"I can't tell you" whispered Greg. He looked far sadder than any person should ever look. "I made a really stupid mistake. I can't fix that. I just have to figure things out for myself."
"Greg, what aren't you telling me?"
Greg shook his head. "Too much depends on me being quiet" he whispered softly. Warrick just stared.
"Greg we want to help…"
"You want to judge me!" he spat. "You've already made up your minds, so what does it matter anymore?"
He went to stand up but lost his balance. Warrick reacted quickly and caught him before he could fall. As he grabbed Greg, he put pressure on the existing chest wounds. Greg gasped sharply in pain.
"God Greg, I'm sorry. Come on, why don't you go to bed? I'll help you get settled and then I am sleeping on the couch. No arguments" he added as Greg opened his mouth to object.
Warrick waited patiently in the hall as Greg changed into sweatpants. The pain in his chest was causing difficulty pulling his shirt on. After a brief struggle, he conceded that he needed some assistance. Warrick was helping him and couldn't help but notice the angry bruising on Greg's chest. The ugly purple and blue marks where the seatbelt had restrained him ran from his shoulder across to his torso. It must have felt ten times worse than it looked. As Greg settled into bed, he looked up at Warrick desperately.
"Please don't give up on me." he whispered as his heavy lids began to close.
"Then don't give up on yourself" Warrick whispered back. He waited by the bedside until Greg was asleep. He then went down to the couch but found he was unable to give into the exhaustion that had been sweeping over him all day. His mind was racing.
Greg was hiding something. And Warrick had a feeling that the truth was looking him right in the face but he was too blind to see it. He lay awake for hours trying to figure it out, but finally allowed sleep to overtake him. He slept restlessly. His mind was replaying the events of the last day and half over and over again in his dreams. So many factors to consider. They flew by at lightening speed.
Then somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, the piece that he had been struggling to find fell into place. Warrick sat upright with his heart pounding.
And he knew.