New chapter! And, KrazyKid, Greg's in this one . . . unfortunately, he's
still in a coma, but he is PRESENT, and after a while, we're going to have
a chapter called "What We're Fighting For" with a major flashback to Greg,
so that should make you happy. I'd say more, but I'd rather not reveal the
ending just yet.
And, RainbowsnStars, Grissom IS going to mention the explosion - - but not in this chapter, sorry. It comes out later, in a confrontation between Grissom and Nathan.
**
Chapter Seven: A Crash Course
**
The silence on the ride over had been unbearable. Grissom had simply welcomed the second entrance into Greg's room, bearing the promised hair gel - - Tiga Bedhead. Midway through the drive, he had screeched almost to a halt and demanded the location of a drugstore, which Nick nervously had given him, and once he had told them his reason, Catherine had supplied the name of Greg's brand. He'd come out of the store clutching the bottle like a totem, and driven the rest of the way without a word.
They were upset. They were worried about their friend. The air was thick with fear and doubt, redolent of forbidden hope.
And Nathan Sanders sensed none of it.
He stood near the back of the room, letting the others swarm around his son. Sara and Catherine mussed with the blankets and Sara was puzzling out the hair gel when Warrick stepped in and did it himself, pushing Greg's hair into an uplifted maze. Nick was silent, and had taken the offered chair, pressing his hand against Greg's. His eyes were watery and dark.
Grissom, for his part, pulled back the curtains to let the sunshine fall into the room. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage Greg's sleep by giving him a dark room.
The chatter, almost a low hum of whispers, grew, composed mostly of promises and clutched-back tears. We're going to find them. We want you to wake up. Nothing's the same without you. You're a fighter, Greg. Thanks for the samples. If you die, we'll kill you.
And then Nick, hoarsely, his voice torn, "Hey, Greg, who's gonna annoy Grissom if you're gone?"
His face turned pale as he realized he'd had the misfortune to have spoken into a sudden pocket of silence as everyone else had collectively run out of words. And the full tone of his voice, coarse with emotion, reverberated clearly in the small room.
(Who's gonna annoy Grissom if you're gone?)
A single tear slipped down Sara's cheek, and she moved a step closer to Catherine, who was inching closer to Warrick at the same time. They met in a startled second and, en masse, grew upon Nick until there was a united contact - - hands on shoulders and stray fingers brushing off someone else's tears. It wasn't a hug or an embrace; wasn't even close, it was just a tightly-knit cable of high emotion, all of the lost terror coming out not in tears but in touch.
Before he even noticed, Grissom became part of it, his wrist encircled by Sara's smooth, cool fingers, and Nick's corduroy jacket mashed against his side. He could smell Catherine's shampoo and the dull mint of Warrick's cologne.
He felt like crying, but his eyes were dry.
"Really comfortable workplace environment you must have," Nathan said behind them, his voice whiplash thin and indignant, and suddenly, the cord holding them together broke, all of them somehow embarrassed, though there had been nothing like his implication taking place. No touch could have been more platonic.
All drowning swimmers clung to each other.
When they realized that he had no grounds, faces turned scarlet with anger.
Grissom found himself holding Sara again, this time restraining instead of comforting. Livid, she was lunging for Nathan. Her voice came out in a growl. "You bastard," she said through clenched teeth. "You don't care about him. Get out."
"Sara." It was like trying to reign in a tornado.
She pressed on, frustrated. "Let GO of me, Grissom." Her hand ripped out of his with the slight clapping sound of skin-against-skin. Small hands, fluttering against Nathan's clean white shirt, the color of all the snowstorms Grissom had never seen. He had never realized how small Sara's hands were. She did not latch onto Nathan but recoiled when she realized that she had touched him, and wiped her hands reflexively on her jacket, as if they were coated in slime.
"We're going to take care of him," she said stolidly.
Catherine was by her in an instant, color where Sara was black-and-white with anger. Her voice was sharp and aimed at Nathan like a razor-wire whip. "We're his family," she said. "I don't know what the hell you are to him, but you're not a father."
Nathan didn't seem intimidated by the two women in front of him, and only gave that fuzzily annoying smile. He directed his words at Sara. "Miss, if you attempt to kick me out of a hospital - - a father visiting his comatose son - - I'm sure that you will have no success whatsoever."
"They aren't attempting to kick you out," Grissom said.
"We aren't?" Catherine's voice betrayed a hint of irony. "I am."
"No. You aren't. We all are - - and we aren't attempting, we're doing it. Right now, Greg is still evidence in an important case. If you don't want to explain to the sheriff why you were obstructing a criminalist's right to analyze a victim, I suggest you leave. Immediately."
Nathan locked eyes with him, and it disgusted Grissom to note that he could see Greg in the color and shape of the irises - - even some of the lines of the face. All the similarities, except where they really counted. Nathan was angry now, where he hadn't been before. "I'm not out of the city yet," he said coldly. "You can count on that. I didn't fly here for no reason."
"We don't need you here," Warrick said as he and Nick lent support to the line.
"You still might." The plastic good cheer had gone out of Nathan, and it had turned his smile nasty. "Do you really care about my son, Dr. Grissom? Whose money do you think is keeping him alive right now? It certainly isn't yours. It's mine. And I could pull out any time I wanted. So until some miracle wakes him up - - if you DO care - - you're in my debt."
It was anticlimactic but welcome when Grissom's pager went off.
DNA had traced the blood.
And, RainbowsnStars, Grissom IS going to mention the explosion - - but not in this chapter, sorry. It comes out later, in a confrontation between Grissom and Nathan.
**
Chapter Seven: A Crash Course
**
The silence on the ride over had been unbearable. Grissom had simply welcomed the second entrance into Greg's room, bearing the promised hair gel - - Tiga Bedhead. Midway through the drive, he had screeched almost to a halt and demanded the location of a drugstore, which Nick nervously had given him, and once he had told them his reason, Catherine had supplied the name of Greg's brand. He'd come out of the store clutching the bottle like a totem, and driven the rest of the way without a word.
They were upset. They were worried about their friend. The air was thick with fear and doubt, redolent of forbidden hope.
And Nathan Sanders sensed none of it.
He stood near the back of the room, letting the others swarm around his son. Sara and Catherine mussed with the blankets and Sara was puzzling out the hair gel when Warrick stepped in and did it himself, pushing Greg's hair into an uplifted maze. Nick was silent, and had taken the offered chair, pressing his hand against Greg's. His eyes were watery and dark.
Grissom, for his part, pulled back the curtains to let the sunshine fall into the room. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage Greg's sleep by giving him a dark room.
The chatter, almost a low hum of whispers, grew, composed mostly of promises and clutched-back tears. We're going to find them. We want you to wake up. Nothing's the same without you. You're a fighter, Greg. Thanks for the samples. If you die, we'll kill you.
And then Nick, hoarsely, his voice torn, "Hey, Greg, who's gonna annoy Grissom if you're gone?"
His face turned pale as he realized he'd had the misfortune to have spoken into a sudden pocket of silence as everyone else had collectively run out of words. And the full tone of his voice, coarse with emotion, reverberated clearly in the small room.
(Who's gonna annoy Grissom if you're gone?)
A single tear slipped down Sara's cheek, and she moved a step closer to Catherine, who was inching closer to Warrick at the same time. They met in a startled second and, en masse, grew upon Nick until there was a united contact - - hands on shoulders and stray fingers brushing off someone else's tears. It wasn't a hug or an embrace; wasn't even close, it was just a tightly-knit cable of high emotion, all of the lost terror coming out not in tears but in touch.
Before he even noticed, Grissom became part of it, his wrist encircled by Sara's smooth, cool fingers, and Nick's corduroy jacket mashed against his side. He could smell Catherine's shampoo and the dull mint of Warrick's cologne.
He felt like crying, but his eyes were dry.
"Really comfortable workplace environment you must have," Nathan said behind them, his voice whiplash thin and indignant, and suddenly, the cord holding them together broke, all of them somehow embarrassed, though there had been nothing like his implication taking place. No touch could have been more platonic.
All drowning swimmers clung to each other.
When they realized that he had no grounds, faces turned scarlet with anger.
Grissom found himself holding Sara again, this time restraining instead of comforting. Livid, she was lunging for Nathan. Her voice came out in a growl. "You bastard," she said through clenched teeth. "You don't care about him. Get out."
"Sara." It was like trying to reign in a tornado.
She pressed on, frustrated. "Let GO of me, Grissom." Her hand ripped out of his with the slight clapping sound of skin-against-skin. Small hands, fluttering against Nathan's clean white shirt, the color of all the snowstorms Grissom had never seen. He had never realized how small Sara's hands were. She did not latch onto Nathan but recoiled when she realized that she had touched him, and wiped her hands reflexively on her jacket, as if they were coated in slime.
"We're going to take care of him," she said stolidly.
Catherine was by her in an instant, color where Sara was black-and-white with anger. Her voice was sharp and aimed at Nathan like a razor-wire whip. "We're his family," she said. "I don't know what the hell you are to him, but you're not a father."
Nathan didn't seem intimidated by the two women in front of him, and only gave that fuzzily annoying smile. He directed his words at Sara. "Miss, if you attempt to kick me out of a hospital - - a father visiting his comatose son - - I'm sure that you will have no success whatsoever."
"They aren't attempting to kick you out," Grissom said.
"We aren't?" Catherine's voice betrayed a hint of irony. "I am."
"No. You aren't. We all are - - and we aren't attempting, we're doing it. Right now, Greg is still evidence in an important case. If you don't want to explain to the sheriff why you were obstructing a criminalist's right to analyze a victim, I suggest you leave. Immediately."
Nathan locked eyes with him, and it disgusted Grissom to note that he could see Greg in the color and shape of the irises - - even some of the lines of the face. All the similarities, except where they really counted. Nathan was angry now, where he hadn't been before. "I'm not out of the city yet," he said coldly. "You can count on that. I didn't fly here for no reason."
"We don't need you here," Warrick said as he and Nick lent support to the line.
"You still might." The plastic good cheer had gone out of Nathan, and it had turned his smile nasty. "Do you really care about my son, Dr. Grissom? Whose money do you think is keeping him alive right now? It certainly isn't yours. It's mine. And I could pull out any time I wanted. So until some miracle wakes him up - - if you DO care - - you're in my debt."
It was anticlimactic but welcome when Grissom's pager went off.
DNA had traced the blood.
