Happy Enough by SLynn
Disclaimer: Any character you recognize, not mine.
Chapter 10: Support
The shift had been agonizingly slow. The highlight had of course been the staff meeting when Grissom had told everyone about his promotion. That had been great, but since then time just seemed to drag.
Not that they weren't busy.
Nick had taken him out to the first crime scene of the night. DUI. Pretty typical, only people killed weren't drunk. Also pretty straight forward.
After that, he'd gone back through the evidence of the Chabot case with Sara. That had probably been the longest part of the night. Fortunately they didn't go over pictures. Maybe Sara had finally figured what had been triggering his mood swings or maybe they just didn't need too.
The palm print they'd found outside the bedroom window had been more revealing then they could have first imagined. Together they'd returned to the scene for the third time to check the roof. The killer obviously didn't come in through the window, but maybe they'd tried to get rid of something that way. That something turned out to still be there, stuck in the rain gutter. It was the original property lines map for the area. Turned out, there was a land dispute involved. It didn't take long to track down the neighbor, whom during the initial interview had shown remorse, but this time showed only contempt.
He had a very late dinner break with Warrick. They hit the local diner, talked about the usual, and headed back.
Now it seemed like he had nothing to do but wait.
It was nearly five. Greg was already mentally calculating that he'd have at least another three hours to wait. They probably wouldn't call before eight, more then likely not until after nine. Suddenly he felt like maybe he didn't want to be here when he got that call. That maybe he did want to be alone.
"Hey man, we've got a call." Nick said from the doorway. "Grab your stuff and get to the garage. If you beat me there you might even get to drive."
Shaking off the feelings of despair that had begun to creep up on him, Greg laughed. He really did try to make it there first. No luck.
"Sorry," Nick said sounding anything but.
"Sure you are," Greg said as once more he was confined to the passengers' seat. "Where we headed?"
"Another accident. Pile-up. At least four or five cars."
Greg nodded and started messing with the radio, glad to have a distraction.
"No. None of that crap you listen too," Nick said without looking at him. "It's too early for that."
"Its better then the crap you listen too. Besides, you're driving. I'm shotgun. Shotgun picks the stations."
"Sanders, I don't care how many times you say that it doesn't make it true. My truck, my station."
"Technically it's the city of Las Vegas's truck. Should I try to find some Sinatra?"
Nick smirked at him and Greg decided to leave it off.
The accident hadn't taken long to get too. Grissom and Catherine were already there. Apparently Warrick and Sara were to be following soon.
The place was a mess. Cars were twisted every which way. To make it worse, rush hour was starting causing Greg to become slightly concerned that if cancer didn't kill him some idiot in too big of a hurry to get to work would.
There were three db's on scene. None too bad to look at, now that Greg was getting use to it. They'd all been from one of the two cars in the middle of the crash. By the time they'd swept the scene, established the initial crash sight, photographed and gone over the bodies the sun was well into the sky and Greg was shocked to find on the way back to the lab that it was nearly ten.
He checked his phone but there were no calls.
"Want to grab breakfast?" Nick asked.
"Sure," Greg said despite his previous feelings of wanting to get the call alone. He wasn't sure what he wanted right now except to finally have an answer.
This morning it was just Nick, Sara and himself at breakfast. Usually if there was breakfast to be had, it was done in a group. Greg was getting the feeling that he was being babysat. They'd all ordered and talked casually, but more then once he caught Sara or Nick looking at him expectantly as if waiting for him to tell them the news.
"They haven't called yet," he finally blurted out as they'd gotten their bills.
Sara looked down into her coffee cup and Nick just stared at him.
"I'm just going to go home and get some sleep. They'll call when they call." Greg said. It sounded false even to him.
"Do you need some one to come hang out or something?" Nick asked.
"No. Really, I'm okay."
"Greg," Sara continued the attack "you really shouldn't be alone right now. You shouldn't have to hear whatever it is alone."
"It's probably better if…"
Greg stopped mid-sentence as his cell phone came alive. It rang twice before he answered, stepping away as he did. Nick half stood to follow but Sara stopped him cold.
"Greg Sanders," he said into it. He hadn't got up to really walk away from them, it was nerves. He felt like he needed to be moving right now.
"Okay," he said "I'm ready."
He quickly met Nick and then Sara's eyes before shutting his own, hoping this would be easier to hear in the dark.
Greg felt his shoulder go slack and knew it was idiotic to be nodding to a cell phone, but found himself doing it anyway.
Nick and Sara had no idea if it was good or bad. Greg's face wasn't readable. They saw him quickly check his watch as he said "Two o'clock is fine, thanks," and then hung up.
Greg took in a deep breath and opened his eyes, knowing he'd see them there waiting.
"So?" Nick asked first, fearing he already knew the answer.
Greg sunk back into his seat and looked down at the table. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Sara wiping her hand across her face.
"Yeah," Greg said quietly. "It's back. It's positive."
He saw more then felt Nick clap him on the shoulder and knew more then heard that he must be saying something to him. He just couldn't focus on anything at the moment.
"I'm going to go get some sleep," Greg said standing to go. "They want me to talk with a specialist in a few hours, and I should really try to rest first."
He knew they protested this, and had no idea how he'd gotten around the both of them, but a mere fifteen minutes later he was back in his apartment alone, but not like he wanted.
Time, which had been dragging before, now seemed to be barreling down hill. Maybe he dozed off even because before he knew it he needed to head down to meet his new doctor at the UMC Cancer Treatment Facility.
Greg hadn't even changed or showered yet, but he went.
Dr. Tracey was nice. He liked her even though he didn't like what she had to say. His treatment would begin immediately. She wanted to start him on a six-week course of chemotherapy that day.
At first he'd balked.
Dr. Tracey insisted. She wanted him to begin the course now. It wouldn't involve IV's and it wouldn't involve a hospital stay. This was a new drug treatment, a series of pills to be taken daily at strict intervals, that would hopefully make some progress.
"And if it doesn't?" he'd asked.
Dr. Tracey had been hopeful. She'd seen good results in cases like his. Relapses. If the outpatient treatment showed signs of working he'd do a six week on, two week off medication schedule. They'd be testing his marrow every two weeks. Once clear for six weeks straight, he could go off the medication but still require six month checks for three years.
"And if it doesn't?" he asked again.
Dr. Tracey had been honest. They'd have to aggressive with in hospital treatments by IV, bone marrow transplants the works. He knew the works well. He'd lived it for quite some time.
After that he asked the typical questions, ones he mostly knew the answers too. What side effects should he expect? Nausea was the big one. Hair loss, infertility, fatigue, memory loss were all close seconds. None of it fun. Depression was a new one to hear. He wanted to laugh. How did they determine if that from the drugs or the cancer?
"What about work?" he'd asked, nearly forgetting his new position.
She knew what he did for a living and she didn't want him in the field. The drugs would lower his immune system and he'd be much more susceptible to disease. Dr. Tracey also wanted him to cut his hours down to thirty-two a week. This time Greg did laugh. He'd done that many on most weekends. But it wasn't a joke. He needed rest and if he couldn't do it outside of the hospital, she would admit him.
In the end he'd agreed to it all. She hadn't given him much choice. Still in shock, Greg gathered his meds, made his first appointment for his marrow check, and started to head home.
Before he got away entirely Dr. Tracey handed him a card with the address and times of a local support group. Greg smiled and thanked her saying he'd check it out knowing for certain he wouldn't.