Happy Enough by SLynn

Disclaimer: Any character you recognize, not mine.

Chapter 23: Hiding

That night Greg fell asleep in the break room. It wasn't what he'd planned on doing but after so much activity he was exhausted. He'd gone into the break room intending on resting for a bit before heading home, the next thing he'd known he was being gently shook on the shoulder.

"Hey," Catherine was saying as he sat up. "Gil asked if you wanted to come on a ride-along."

"What time is it?"

"Just after four."

Greg just nodded, feeling better for having rested.

"You'll be with Warrick and me. Everyone else is already gone. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Greg stood up and stretched, gathered his things and ended up being the first to the SUV.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked the others as they approached the truck.

"Triple homicide in North Vegas," Warrick answered as he got into the passengers seat. Greg climbed in behind Catherine who was doing the driving.

"Sounds drug related. The place is a known crack house." Catherine provided.

Greg stifled a yawn, catching Warrick's eye in the process.

"Man, if you're tired you don't have to come."

"I'm fine," Greg answered through another yawn. "I had to be out for close to four hours, that's more sleep then I get most nights."

Warrick must have approved of how he did actually look because he said no more.

They arrived in under twenty minutes to a less then scenic housing community and immediately ran into Grissom and the first victim. A man, looked to be in his late thirties, shot in the back. It looked as if he'd been running away when he'd been shot.

"Catherine, Warrick, I want you two to take the second db just inside the door. Greg, join up with Sara and Nick. They're working the third db in the living room."

Greg followed behind the two till they got inside and then gingerly made his way into the next room. The whole place was a mess, had very little real furniture and smelled horribly.

Nick and Sara were busy examining the body and hadn't noticed him walk up behind them. He put down his case and stood back to watch. Nick acknowledged him first.

"Check this out."

The third victim was a woman. She looked about twenty, which was being optimistic. She'd also been shot and was lying face down and sprawled out.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Um, well she's obviously dead."

"Obviously," Nick echoed with a smile. He couldn't believe Greg still got nervous doing this, even with him. He cut him some slack, considering it was his first scene in months, but Greg needed to end his nervous stammers soon.

"I see three bullet wounds," Greg continued, squatting down to join them and sounding a bit more at ease. "These two look like exit wounds, but this one looks like an entry."

"Good," Nick said by way of encouragement. "What does that tell you?"

"That she was probably running away at the time she was shot."

"Close," Sara cut in, "Try running towards."

"Why?"

"The first shot was here, high on the shoulder. That one started the spin. The second was probably the fatal shot, midsection. The third entered in the lower back. Those are the two exit wounds."

"So?" Nick continued to prod.

"Okay, so if she was running towards the attacker she either didn't realize there was a problem or she was trying to attack him herself."

"And that's what we need to know," Nick finished.

The three of them began to comb over the room. After a thorough search which turned up nothing, Nick took what looked like the bedroom while Sara and Greg tried in the kitchen. The kitchen was small and galley style, ending with a breakfast nook and sliding glass door leading out back. The door was closed and intact.

"I thought you'd gone home," she said after they were alone.

"I was going to but I fell asleep."

Sara was now poking through the only garbage can in the place; it was filled to the point of overflowing.

"Need help with that?" Greg asked.

"No, try the cabinets then the fridge."

He nodded and continued looking for what he didn't know.

"Something in here sure stinks," Sara said. She hadn't like the near argument they'd been in earlier and was trying now to get past it.

"Your face is inches from filth," Greg said with a laugh, "What did you expect?"

"True."

Greg smiled to himself, willing to at least feign ease with her. It wasn't easy.

"Do you have a flashlight?" he asked her, noticing something in the back of the top cabinet. It had struck him funny since everything else was barren.

"Catch." she called, tossing it to him. "Helps to keep one in your jacket and one in your kit."

"Got it," Greg said, not really listening. He was about two inches too short to really see inside, so he was stretching as much as possible, straining even on tip toe. Sweeping the light inside, hoping to at least catch the shadow of the object, he thought he'd saw movement.

"I don't suppose I'm allowed to stand on this counter."

"No you are not. I'm not filling out all those workers comp forms because you fell and busted your head looking for a snack."

"That's funny," Greg said still only half paying attention as he moved backwards instead to try and see up into the cabinet. "You know I have cat-like reflexes."

Sara laughed still looking for something of importance in the trash.

"Greg," she said as she noticed he was still staring up transfixed. "Exactly what is it you're looking for up there?"

"Something moved," he said as he moved closer to the cabinet again.

"It's probably a rat."

Greg looked at her clearly horror stricken, stepping back several paces.

"What did you expect?" she shot back.

Greg made no reply, just shut the cabinet door with the tail end of the flashlight.

"I'm going to check the pantry."

"Okay," Sara said giving up on the trash contents and checking the sink instead for signs of blood or drug use, "but it'll probably have rats too."

Greg suppressed a shudder and moved round the refrigerator to where the pantry was. Flashlight ready, he put his hand on the door and then froze. He'd definitely heard a faint rustling noise coming from inside.

Not willing to admit that rats really did give him the heebie-jeebies, he took in a deep breath and opened the door wide. It was larger then the average pantry with a slanted roof indicating it was directly under the staircase they'd seen in the foyer. Greg scanned the top shelves to his left briefly but there was nothing of interest. Mostly old boxes, some obviously chewed on by vermin, filled the space. He felt absolutely no apprehension walking a few steps inside and he'd wanted to check around those boxes. It would be a good place to drop something out of sight. Besides, the police had cleared the place so it was just him and the rats.

Inside, he had to crouch. He did only a quick sweep; there was no blood or sign of disturbance. Turning to go, he heard that same rustling noise this time right behind him. Greg swung back round but instead of looking at eye level, he looked to the floor. That's when he realized he wasn't alone and it was something much bigger then a rat in there with him.

He took a small step backwards.

"Greg," Sara was now at the door way.

He held up a hand for silence, a signal she immediately caught as she moved her right hand up to her sidearm.

Now the boxes were definitely rustling. Greg's heart was racing. He didn't even know how he'd managed to stay standing at this point, must have been adrenaline. Sara had taken a side step into the enclosure to get a better look, but as she did Greg got a glimpse of exactly what they were up against.

He shook his head at her and motioned her back. Sara didn't know what he was doing but didn't stop him. She just stood transfixed, gun now drawn as Greg squatted down near the boxes and actually began moving them.

She'd tried saying his name but it just didn't come out.

"It's okay," he was saying now but he seemed to be addressing the boxes and not her. He wasn't facing her, wasn't even looking Sara's way. "It's okay now, you can come out."

Sara saw him extend his hand slowly and breathed a sigh of relief as a tiny hand emerged taking hold.

"What's your name sweetheart?" he asked to an extremely frightened little girl, probably no older then three, who had emerged from behind the junk. She didn't answer, just ran into his arms with tears down her face.

Sara turned away quickly, lost somewhere between relief and anger. She had only one thought. 'He could have been killed.'