AN: the rating of this chapter is R, for language of course. So for those of you with virgin ears, I apologize in advance.Sorry that this chapter took so long; a lot of shit has been going on.

After the confrontation in the hospital, I knew I couldn't face Grissom, not yet. Hell, I couldn't even look at Sara. She never had any respect for me before today, somehow I don't think getting screamed at by some guy in intensive care was the best way to earn her approval. As I looked over at Tony after his shocking final statement, I realized that I couldn't stand to be in that room any longer. So I left. I tried to make it through the hall and to the elevator before Sara could catch up with me, but apparently she could run faster than I gave her credit for.

She looked like she was going to scream at me, hit me even. In fact, at that moment I wouldn't have minded if she did. I wanted something, anything to take me out of this cloud of disbelief and Sara slapping me would certainly do it. But she just stared at me, like a fucking sideshow act, before I finally broke the silence.

"Can you just take me home?" For a minute there, I thought she would refuse. I knew she wanted to rub all of this new information into Grissom's face; I could see her spilling everything and telling him "I always knew Greg was trouble."

"Sure." I never felt that much gratitude toward a person in my life. She just dropped it and didn't say another word. On the elevator ride to the lobby, I couldn't help but think about what Tony accused me of. I KNEW that I had never done anything with Lydia in my life. Hell, other than when I first met her in Pennsylvania, I never even had the opportunity to. I didn't see her for over a year, I was sure of it.

But, what did I remember about that year? Did I remember enough to be sure that her child wasn't mine? I tried to concentrate, tried to think. Had I seen Lydia between Harrisburg and Las Vegas? Then it hit me.Seattle, Washington- - where I had a breakdown in my hotel room. Hating what I was while I injected, with the assistance of the belt Lydia had given me as a Christmas gift the day before. I now remembered seeing her at Christmas. She met us in Seattle, this time her hair was about the same shade as a fire truck. "For the holidays,"she said with a grin after I commented on it. But that was it. I couldn't remember ever doing anything with her and I'm pretty sure something like that would stick out in my mind.

I guess the subject of my internal conflicts was pasted on my face because I soon found Sara's hand in mine. I looked down and caught a glimpse of her small hand swallowed by my own before looking up and meeting her eye. During the entire ride home, she never said a word, but I still knew she understood.

My apartment was quiet, lonely and I was tempted to call out to Sara and ask her to return. But when I made it to the door, she was gone. So I was left to sit alone at my kitchen table to ponder the events of that night. The vivid bright yellow of the walls contrasted greatly with the whole image of Vegas, of my job, of my thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder what caused me to pick the color in the first place. Maybe I was hoping an unnaturally uplifting color like that would set my life in the right direction.

Left with nothing to do but wonder about the past and stare at my walls, I only managed to stay up for a few more hours before I began the trek to my bedroom. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on my bed to watch the last few minutes of an episode of Seinfeld and fell asleep in seconds. I woke up about eight hours later still in my clothes from the night before. Stretching, I walked over to my television to turn off The Cosby Show en route to the shower. My head was pounding. Because of the pain medication I forgot to take last night, my knee was throbbing. I felt like I just lost a boxing match..

After a quick shower, I limped over to the phone that hung on the wall beside the bed. I checked my watch: six- thirty. Too early to call? My hand hesitated inches above the receiver, before I picked it up and dialed his number.

"Grissom?"

The rain was pouring so severely that my windshield wipers were hindered useless and the normal drive of ten minutes to Grissom's townhouse took about a twenty. But before I knew it, I was knocking on his front door. Grissom answered and ushered me inside.

I couldn't help but laugh, even though it came our shakier than I hoped for. "This place looks exactly like it used to."

He gave a small grin. "What can I say? I'm a creature of habit."

It looked as if his apartment was frozen in time, like it had been in a time warp for the last decade. The exact same pictures were still hanging on the walls; the furniture hadn't moved an inch.

Grissom cleared his throat and gestured toward his stiff leather sofa. 'Sit down", he directed as he sat on the identical sofa across from mine. Once we were both seated, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he had just aged twenty years.

He sighed. "Greg, I just got off the phone with Brass. Tony Nash died today. We're not exactly sure how it happened, but Brass wants Sara and me to go to Harrisburg and find Lydia. He wants you to be our guide."

It just seemed so unreal, you know? I had just talked to him the day before and now all of a sudden he was dead. For awhile, I was too shocked to cry. And then, when the realization of the whole situation finally hit me, I had to hold myself together in front of Grissom. I tried to think of the fight that we just had, the lies he threw at me, but I couldn't. The only thoughts going through my mind right then were the memories. The way he used to threaten to kill me if I ever "dropped his fucking bass," the way he used to act out that God-awful eighties song "I Touch Myself" every time it came on the radio, his love for Lydia. The more I thought about it, the more I understood his anger at the hospital. Directly or not, I had taken her away from him, I had taken his life away from him. Here they all were, trying their hardest to hold themselves together in the midst of an unbelievable tragedy while I was out getting my degree- - making more than enough money while they were struggling just to get by. I was disgusted with myself, disgusted by how quickly I had forgotten about all of them, disgusted that I never got the chance to say goodbye.

I know my life was a bit more "tragic" than most people my age, but I had always tried to be optimistic in things to come, that God had a plan and the car crash, my sister's condition, and my father's "disease" were all a part of it. That some good had to come out of everything. After the news of Tony's death, I had no clue what the hell to believe.

Tony worked hard all of his life. He cared about everyone around him and he knew just how to make my bad days better, to make me feel like I belonged when I always knew I didn't. Sure, I didn't know anything about what happened in the final half of his life, but I knew it was tough. I knew they were almost back to normal again and then something like this had to happen.

We were such a small group- - Zack, Price, Tony, Kevin, Lydia, and I- - but we were always so close. After Kevin's death we became a group of five, and, after my desertion, a group of four. But that just wasn't small enough, was it? They were on their way to becoming one of the greatest rock bands of their time, but were cut short of their greatness by tragedy. Tony's death was a cruel joke that destroyed part of the legacy, that added salt to the almost healed wounds. It wasn't fucking fair.

"Greg?" Grissom's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah".

"Will you go to Harrisburg with us?" Initially I was going to say no, but the more I thought about it, this was my chance to make up for deserting them in the past. I needed to make it up to Tony.

"Yes".

"I've already spoken to Sara about it and she's waiting for us down at the crime lab. So go home and pack up your bags. Our plane leaves tonight."

IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ

Every time you get into a car, please buckle up for Jaimé- a hilarious, sarcastic teenager with an obsession for old eighties music. Just a month before, she was so excited about FINALLY getting her liscense...and it ended like this.

September 29, 1988 - October 9, 2004

The youngest in our class was the first to go. But, regardless of anything, there will always, ALWAYS be twelve of us.