Disclaimer: I own no characters other than my originals and Greg…ok, ok, so I only own a Greg doll/action figure that my aunt made me as a grad gift…he looks spiffy in his jeans, wacky shirt, and lab coat though…he sits on the shelf above my desk in the dorm room next to his little microscope and whispers sweet nothings into my ear…heh heh…
Author's Note: Ok, some facts may be off, i.e. I know in one of the episodes Grissom's anthropologist friend said most people of Nordic descent are blondes, and it's probably true, but my grandfather's from Norway, and he was a carrottop (before his hair turned white, lol), so I'm going with that…I recently watched a repeat of the episode when Greg mentions that his grandfather told him "one must lie in the bed one has made" after he got shunned because he got a woman pregnant before marriage, and before I came to NYU, my grandpa told me how to say "Would you like a quickie in the bushes?" in Norwegian…lmao, mein Opa is a dirty old man, but he rocks...he's hoping I hook up with some Norwegian foreign exchange student…also, I know Greg's sister's name is odd, but I'll explain later…some of you more savvy readers can probably pick up on it though…also, review…you can leave flames if you want, I don't care…I'll use 'em to toast marshmallows for me and Greg…more sanitary than using a Bunsen burner…alright, enough talk, let's rock and roll!
Dedications: This is dedicated to my girl, Taren, whom I based Faraday on along with myself because the two of us rock our faces off…Taren, you're such a smart-ass and that's one of the things I love about you, ya skank! Wish you were at NYU…but it's only, like, a twenty mile drive, so get your ass over here and let me introduce you to some skater boys! lol
By the way, the case file will be coming up around chapter three; I have to establish some background first.
KAPITEL EINS
Greg Sanders stood in the shower letting the hot water course over him. His little sister had moved in two weeks ago, and she'd wasted no time encroaching upon his space…well, what used to be his space. He only had one bathroom in his apartment, so they had been forced to share. Herbal Essences Fruit Fusions shampoo now rested next to his store brand, a Gillette Venus razor hung next to his Mach 3 on the shower caddy, and melon-smelling shaving gel sat on the edge of the tub. He still found it surprising whenever he found a rogue bra of hers that had escaped and lay huddled up against the side of the dryer after she'd done a load of laundry.
Greg hadn't seen her since she was eight and he was twenty-one and in his last year of college. Faraday had been a complete surprise to his parents; his mother was taking a birth control pill that was ninety-seven percent effective. Well, in late 1987, his mother plunged right into that three percent error and ended up giving birth to Faraday Ramsay Sanders on June 21, 1988. He was quite surprised to see how much she'd changed even though it had been seven years. The straightness of her body had given way to subtle curves. She wore low-rise black Dickies, black Converse All-Stars, and a semi-tight black Romones shirt. Her brown hair was littered with auburn strands (which she got from her and Greg's Norwegian side of the family) and was razor-cut at her chin, straight, and tousled about her head. He couldn't believe that she, at fifteen, could look so grown-up, and yet, he smiled, because if looks were any indication, she'd turned out like him: quasi-punk. However, he already knew he didn't share his sister's attitude. While he dressed in jeans and outrageous shirts to work, played loud music in the DNA lab, and cracked jokes every chance he got, he wasn't into outright defiance.
When he's last spoken to his mother, she'd briefed him about Faraday's rebelliousness and behavioral problems, and this, coupled with their father's increasing health problems, made her feel as if a mental breakdown was coming on. She asked him if he'd keep Faraday for a while, until she could sort everything out. He'd asked her why she though living with him would do any good; she told him that maybe Faraday needed to live with somebody younger than her and his father, somebody who was "streetwise."
"'Streetwise', Mom? What do you think I do for a living? Scam people?"
"You know what I mean, somebody who can keep up with everything she tries to pull. You've pulled every trick in the book, Greg; you'll use good judgment when dealing with her. I have faith in you."
"Thank you, Mom, but I'm a twenty-eight year old bachelor; we don't exactly make the best parents. I mean, I basically live off of frozen dinners and frosted cheerios, and I've got a bathroom that could yield more evidence than a severely botched crime scene."
"Please, Greggy. I know it's a lot to ask, but will you do this for me?"
Greg was silent for a moment.
"Of course, Mom. I would never say 'no' to you."
"Then come out and see us."
"Dad doesn't want to see me."
"Of course he does."
"Do you not remember the infamous Christmas of '96? How he screamed at me to choose a 'credible career like a doctor as opposed to a low-life lab tech'?"
"The argument was not as bad as you make it out to be."
"Mom, the yelling got so bad we scared Faraday and made her cry."
"Alright, Greg, alright, I don't want to argue with you. Let's end this conversation on a good note. Thank you for taking your sister into your home, and I love you, Greggy."
"I love you too, Mom."
And so it was. He'd moved his foosball table out of the spare room and crammed it into the corner of the living room. He didn't really play it unless one of the guys came over; Lord knows he was doing something far better when he brought ladies home. One time, when he'd been so tired but couldn't go to sleep, he'd given the little men first and last names, but he'd forgotten them…he would've thought of himself as highly weird with no life had he remembered.
He had picked up Faraday at the airport and paid for the movers to lug furniture and such up six flights of stairs to the third floor because his apartment building had no elevator. And the sad thing was, after he'd done all that for her, and he'd entered his sister's new room because he wanted to catch up with what had been going on at home and at school, he was rewarded with a slamming of the door to his face. He'd thought of charging in there; the door didn't have a lock, and he was angry that she wasn't more grateful. But he didn't. Give her time, he thought.
Greg had also thought that allowing her to move in might get his apartment cleaned up. Who knew? Maybe she was a neat freak. No such luck. She was just as much of a lazyass as he was, and so the apartment became more cluttered. He was going to have to lay a few ground rules about chores and such…but, when he did, he would have to abide by them as well. For instance, no more letting dishes pile up in the sink, and no drinking straight from the orange juice carton. After taking a couple of days off of work to get her situated and acclimated, he was back at the crime lab.
Greg entered the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"I see you're drinking from my pot," he told Nick.
"Hey, you heard Grissom. You use his water, it becomes a community pot. Besides, didn't your mom ever teach you how to share?"
"Sorry, I'm trying to find a new state of normal for my life; I'm a bit cranky."
"Yeah, how goes the parenting gig, anyway?" Nick drawled.
Greg gave him a sideways look.
"Yesterday she plowed through an entire large, thin crust pizza."
"So?" Nick asked as if that wasn't out of the ordinary.
Greg took a sip of his coffee. "Dude, she's not built like me or you. She's like a five foot five, a hundred-and-one pound garbage disposal. She washed that pizza down with two bottles of strawberry milk."
"Strawberry milk and pizza? That's weird," Nick stated as if it were fact.
"That's what I told her."
"But I'm not surprised."
Greg gave him a confused look. "Huh?"
"She's a Sanders; I wouldn't expect anything less."
Greg narrowed his eyes and made a fake laughing noise.
"But seriously dude, she's the black sheep of the family. The only lefty out of a family of righties; blue eyes when everybody else has brown, that sorta thing. Technically, our great-grandfather was a lefty, so she could've inherited it from him, and, also, technically, two brown-eyed parents can have a blue-eyed child, but for all intents and purposes of my point—"
"Whoa," Nick said cutting him off. "Flashback to high school Bio, which I failed and had to take during summer school. Don't sweat the eating thing; my sisters spend hundreds of dollars a month on groceries for their families. It's normal for growing kids to eat a lot."
"Yeah, well, she's going to eat me right out of a home."