Seventeen

I thought the questions were over when I left Grissom's office, but that was just the beginning. For the next three hours, a slew of CSIs, police, and private investigators delved deep into my personal life, both past and present. I had to laugh at the seriousness of it all, especially when one guy asked me if I knew of anyone who would want to hurt me. I couldn't think of anyone, unless you counted the girl I beat in the 5th grade bake-off. She was pretty pissed.

By the time I finally met back up with Greg, I was tired and crabby, and ready to stab someone for a piece of anything chocolate. I could tell by his expression that Greg had been through the same ordeal I had experienced, and I suddenly didn't care about my own discomforts. I felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault some serial killer with a cheesy shtick was after me (killing on Valentine's Day? How original, buddy. We'll put you with the other angry ex-boyfriends.).

"Ready to go home?" he asked, running his hand through his product free hair. I have to admit that I liked him in this natural look. I could actually touch his hair now and not get a handful of pomade.

"God yes," I replied, rolling my eyes and slouching my shoulders. My back was throbbing from sitting up straight for so many sleepless hours, and my eyes were watering from my constant yawning.

"Okay, let's go." He said with slight annoyance. I knew he wasn't annoyed at me – he was just bothered by all of the prying people and the entire ordeal. I followed him out to his car, watching him twirl his keys between his long fingers.

"Can we stop at my place to pick up some clothes?" I asked, assuming that Greg knew of our new living arrangements. When he said 'home', I thought he had meant our home, not my home. I liked that since of belonging that if offered. Clearly, though, Greg was completely clueless.

"Wait, what?" he asked, turning around to face me. I was trying what little patience he had left.

"Grissom said that it would be best if I stayed with you for a while," I explained, stumbling over my words like a teenage boy whose mom had just caught him masturbating. "Just until this blows over." Greg studied my face for a moment, trying to decipher if I was serious or not.

"He didn't mention it to me," he finally said.

"It's okay, Greg," I put up my hand before he could say anything else. "If you're not comfortable with it, I completely understand. Maybe I can stay with Sara."

"Matilda, no," he protested. "Of course I want you to stay with me. Don't be ridiculous. I was just surprised, that's all." I felt a wave of relief wash over my body, and my tense shoulders fell back to their lazy slouch. For the first time in our relationship, I had felt that Greg was disapproving of something I was doing, or who I was. I had never felt him pass such an extreme judgment on me before, and I was scared; scared for what it could mean for me and us. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and kissed me on the top of my head, trying to physically reassure me. Maybe I was just being paranoid again. I swear, sometimes my own mind is trying to sabotage my life.

When we finally got to Greg's apartment building, goosebumps popped up on my arms and legs, and I shuddered a bit. Even the outside appearance brought back memories of the man I had seen in the rain. I wondered if I would forever have a negative association with Greg's house; or worse, with Greg. He noticed my discomfort and took my hand as I stepped out of the car.

"You okay?" he asked, concern in his eyes. I shook my head 'yes' and let him lead me inside, his hand resting on the small of my back the entire time. It wasn't until we got past the front door that I remembered Cornelius.

"My car!" I shouted, startling Greg and making him drop the mail he was holding in his hand.

"Don't do that!" he screeched back like a frightened school girl. A smile developed on my face as I stared at him in his spastic state. He rolled his eyes when he realized that nothing was wrong, and punched me playfully on the arm.

"Greg, Corny is all alone in the world. He's probably cold…and hungry for an oil change." I joked.

"Well, as delicious as those oil changes are…." He began, playing along. "I don't think we'll be seeing your car anytime soon." My playful grin fell and I became genuinely worried.

"Why?"

"Cops brought it into the crime lab last night for investigation," He explained. This was insane. It was like Grissom and the rest of the gang would know more about me than I did. What were they going to search next? My underwear drawer?!

"Investigation?" I asked. "What does my beat-up car have to do with it?"

"Matilda, they found an abandoned car in the middle of the Vegas ghetto," he said. "They had to be suspicious. When they found out it was yours, they decided to send it over to the garage at the lab. We're just trying to get any hints that can help." Ordinarily, I would have fought harder for the well-being of my beloved Cornelius. But exhaustion was consuming me minute by minute, and Greg's bed called to me like the sirens in "The Odyssey" – or the singing hillbillies in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?".

"You tired, baby?" he asked as I stifled a yawn.

"Immensely," I responded. Without saying a word, Greg grabbed my hand and took me into his room, where Henry was curled up in a ball on his bed. He silently shooed the dog off, and pulled the sheets down like a dutiful hotel maid. The only thing that was missing was the mint on the pillow. I didn't object when he slipped my coat off of my shoulders, dropping it to the floor and running his hands up and down my arms.

"Greg, you're not getting any," I said, laying down the law. I barely had the energy to stand, let alone have sex.

"Shh," was his only response. He clumsily pulled my sweater over my head so that I was only wearing my bra and pants. I figured he would try to make a move, but instead he guided me over to the bed, his hands pressed on my hips as he stood behind me. I felt his head resting on my shoulder, and his breath tickling my ear. I climbed under the mountain of sheets, and Greg crawled up beside me, pressing his body against mine. He wrapped his arms around my waste and pulled me as close as possible, our noses just barely touching.

"See, I'm not all about sex," he explained. "I just thought you would sleep better without that horrible, constricting sweater." His voice took on a baby-talk tone as he said the last part. I felt like a baby with a diaper rash. 'Aw. Does Matilda-wilda have a little burny-wurny?' Still, I was too tired to worry about such matters. Without saying another word, I closed my eyes and let Greg's steady breathing lull me to sleep.