You believe in something
But you don't believe in me
Tried and tried for nothing
But you couldn't see
"Greg, wait!" Grissom called for him as he slowly sauntered down the crowded hallway of the crime lab. Day shift was ending, and Greg, who had switched to days for two weeks while one of the regular CSIs was on a honeymoon, was on his way home, hoping to get some sleep to make up for the previous night's absence of it. He hadn't been able to fall asleep with Sara there, which was, of course, to be expected. Greg had spent the majority of the night watching the digital clock that sat on his bedside table, its red numbers flashing, imprinting themselves into his eyes.
Grissom cornered Greg in the hallway and then led his to an empty room, which was, coincidentally, the DNA lab. The new tech was Allison, a ditzy blonde who couldn't have gotten the job if she hadn't slept with Ecklie.
Greg had tried his hardest to avoid Grissom these past couple of months; every time he was alone with the guy, he gave him this whole 'I care about what happens to you and what you're going through' bullshit- filled speech. Because, when you really think about it, he didn't fucking care; none of them did. They pretended to listen and understand him but when he really needed them, before the 'accident', they ignored him. And before, when they did decide to communicate with him, they insulted him, pointed out everything that was wrong with him. Sure, at first it only stung from the shock of the harshness that his 'friends' had thrown on him, but after awhile he just didn't care anymore.
Why? Was it because he had learned to ignore what they said? No, it was simply because they had insulted him, broken him down so many times that his self image, self confidence, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, was gone. The many rejections by the one person he knew could understand him if she just took the time to listen really didn't help much either. The combination of the revilements and ostracism that he was forced to face daily broke him down until he couldn't take it anymore and, eventually, just snapped. Not snapped like going to work and gunning down everyone you knew, snapped like stabbing himself fourteen times, praying to die.
This was the reason he had distanced himself from all of them after that day. They were one of the main things that had driven him to the desperation and self-loathing that made him do the things he did. And all of a sudden, they "forgot" that less than a week before they had hated him, made him hate himself, and tried to help him, to talk to him. Even after all the time that had passed, they still felt the need to show him that they were there. Maybe they were genuinely sorry for how they had acted in the past and wanted to turn over a new leaf. Or maybe that was simply just their way of trying to make themselves feel less guilty by their involvement in the whole thing. Talk about one hell of a support group.
"Greg, how are you?" Grissom began, as he sat down in the rolling computer chair that used to be Greg's and took off his glasses, thoughtfully chewing on one of the arms as he spoke.
Grissom noticed the rigidness in Greg's stance once he asked the question. He also noticed the false smile that Greg plastered on his face.
"I'm good, what about you?" Greg's quick attempt to turn the conversation off of himself didn't go unnoticed by the all-knowing Grissom, either.
"Greg - " he began in an exasperated sigh, but was cut off as Allison entered the lab, shooting the two of them death glares before kicking them out. "We'll talk about this later." He finished as the two departed, Grissom heading to his office, Greg heading home to get some much needed sleep.
Do you see in yourself?
We see almost nothing
We believe in what's left
That must count for something
We are, we are ok
Little did Greg know he hadn't been the only person in his apartment who was unable to sleep the night before.
Although Greg repeated over and over that she didn't care for him, by the amount of time she spent worrying about him that night, it was blatantly obvious that she did care, just not exactly in the way he would hope. Sara was desperately worried that he would try to kill himself again. This was her first time seeing him since "the accident" and she had been horrified to discover that the Greg she had left that morning in Vegas no longer existed. She really had liked the Greg she left in Vegas and, to tell you the truth, she was glad that he was the one she woke up next to so many nights ago. And maybe that is the reason she was so worried about him that she hid all of his prescription pills, his gun, and, for some reason that really hadn't made much sense to her even at two in the morning, his shoelaces. In fact she was so frightened that he would try something that it overtook her thoughts and, for one the few times in her entire life, she was unable to concentrate on her work.
Standing outside watching yourself
Decline away again
Recover this time
So we can save face again
We're breathing
Catherine, who was shockingly not mad about Sara's abandonment of her the night before, had noticed her inability to concentrate and sent her home two hours before shift even ended. As Sara climbed the stairs to Greg's apartment, she heard loud, echoing music that appeared to be coming from his floor.
Her thoughts drifted to one of the first cases she ever worked: a seventeen-year-old San Franciscan male had committed suicide in his room, waiting until every other member of his family left the house before breaking into his father's gun closet and blowing his brains out. His parents first knew something was wrong when they returned to find their entire house vibrating in tune to the song Runaway by Linkin Park, which the boy had set on repeat as his own suicide note. Sara suspected Greg was doing the same, especially when she listened to the lyrics of the song he was blaring.
She took the remaining stairs two at a time, reaching his apartment door faster than most thought possible. She threw open the door, yelling his name, hoping that the repetition of it would bring him out of his suicidal tendencies. She ran to his room, not even bothering to knock as the door flew open.
Her face instantly flushed as she was met by the startled face of Greg, dressed only in a ratty old pair of jeans, his hair still damp from the shower.
"What the hell, Sara?!" He walked over and turned off the radio. Sara was about to utter some flustered apology before her gaze fell down to Greg's naked torso. Patches of his pale, almost translucent skin were interrupted by blasts of the sickening pink shade of scar tissue. Short thrusts and long cuts of some unknown weapon had left its mark on him. The stabs were still the rusty shade of a new scar, the long ones just white lines that stood out from the skin. Rope-like burns from the explosion twisted across his back and shoulders, a quilt of dead and living flesh.
"Shit Greg" she breathed, in the strongest voice she could gather, which was still a barely audible whisper. "What the hell happened to you?"
Sara was unsure as to why she asked the question, she knew the answer before the words even left her mouth. Greg sent her a look that clearly read 'Don't humor me', before rolling his eyes and throwing a shirt on. But Sara, though humiliated, had gained a certain burst of confidence by her recent embarrassment (how much worse could it get?) and could suddenly speak the questions everyone else had been afraid to ask.
Her voice was cool, calm even, as she asked him the next question: "Why did you do it?"
"What?" Slightly sarcastic.
" You know what I'm talking about."
"And?"
"And why?"
"What gives you the right to know?" He was defensive now, and yet still trying to look as if he didn't care.
"Lisa told me about your mom and sister" Sara began tentatively.
"So now you think you've got me all figured out?"
"I'm working on it."
"No." His shoulder bumped hers as he stalked out of the room.
"What happened to you? What happened to the Greg that never let anything bring him down?" Sara spat out the words, bitterly.
He turned back to face her, his eyes brimming with a hatred that Sara had never seen before. "He was stabbed to death over a year and a half ago".
No one hears you talking
Or believes a word you say
But you stand there laughing
Since you lost your place
Do you see in yourself?
We see almost nothing
We believe in what's left
That must count for something
"Why are you acting like this?" They were in the living room now, Greg trying to escape Sara, Sara following his every move.
"Why won't you get off my back?" He answered her question with his own as he flung himself on his couch, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant and failing miserably. Sara sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying her hardest to be comforting and failing miserably.
"Because I care about you," Her brown eyes met his and Greg's expression softened, although the resentment could not be removed from his words.
"Then why did you leave?"
"Greg, you know that had nothing to do with you."
"Yeah? Well, it sure fucking affected me, don't you think?" He stood up and continued, not waiting for her to answer. " You know, for the three years you were in Vegas, I worshiped the ground you walked on. I would have done anything for you, and you knew that. And still you hated me, and I wasn't sure I'd ever find out why. But the day you left, I finally figured it out: I wasn't Grissom. You were so fucking devoted to one man that you didn't have a chance with that anyone who wasn't Grissom was suddenly not worthy of your time. You became so desperate for him that, all of a sudden, nothing else mattered. Your feelings for him consumed you and it was so bad that you couldn't stand to be in the same room with him anymore, which is exactly why you left.
"You know, I guess in that aspect we're the same. We both wanted the one person we could never have." He paused and raised his hand, touching her cheek. "And we both blew our chances."
He sad there, just looking into her watering eyes, realizing the full effect of his words for the first time. Instead of ever approaching Sara, he sat in the shadows, waiting for his opportunity to just appear when he knew it never would. And when he finally got the nerve to let her know everything, it was just a few years too late.
" I think you should leave," Greg began as he stood up from the couch and started walking to his bedroom. "Go to Grissom's and put it all behind you."
Sara jumped up and followed him. "Greg, please. I can't - -"
"If I have to do it, then so should you." The harsh tone had reentered his voice as he walked back to his bedroom and shut the door, leaving Sara sobbing in his livingroom, alone.
Standing outside, watching yourself
Decline away again
Recover this time
So we can save face again
We're breathing
AN: The song in this chapter is Recover by Quench, a local band out of Charleston that I guarantee you guys will be hearing about in the future( I hope). If you can find their CD 'From a Whisper to a Weapon', then buy it - - it's cheap, but great.
Alright, now that I am through shamelessly plugging a GREAT local band, I want to apologize for taking this long to update this. I just couldn't write this chapter! I guess it was writer's block, but maybe I'm just lazy. Anyway, my goal is to have this finished by May 22nd, but I don't think I've ever reached a deadline in my life.
There are only a couple more chapters of this so REVIEW while you can!