Implied Connections
Chapter 9 – Bull's Eye
By: Braidless Baka
Disclaimer: *insert Greg-related disclaimer here*
A/N: Spoiler here for Season 1, Episode 2: "Cool Change", regarding what happens to Holly Gribbs. Also, there's a reference (though perhaps not explicit enough to be a spoiler) to Season 3, Episode 22: "Play With Fire". Consider yourselves warned.
A/N2: Wow O_o *hides from all the rabid reviewers* I was going to wait a day or so to post this… but everyone seems desperate to know what happened. So, I'll not keep you in suspense any longer – as long as you all keep reviewing, I don't mind too much ^_~ From this chapter onwards, it's all about Greggo ^_~
~~~
Catherine, upon gathering her own awareness enough to take in the scene around her, was instantly beside Greg, shaking him hard. "C'mon Greg," she murmured sternly. "You aren't allowed to do this. It's not professional, y'know?"
Professional my ass, she thought bitterly. She just didn't want to see him bleeding all over the place, the amount of blood was nauseating, and more so because you knew the soul it had come from. She was instantly reminded of Holly Gribbs, their last new intake before Sara. She'd died from a gunshot wound as well. The memory wasn't a pleasant one, the girl, just out of the academy, dying on the operating table.
This wasn't going to happen here, Catherine wouldn't let it.
She pulled him over to get a better look at him. He was shaking hard, the shivering evident even through his jacket. "Greg?" she said quietly, shaking him gently. "Can you hear me?"
"Y-yeah…"
Catherine's heart nearly did a somersault down in her stomach. "Are you okay?"
What a stupid question, she chided herself sharply. Of course he's not! Just look at him! She waited patiently, however, for her answer.
"I think… I think I'm hit…" Greg said, his voice quiet, and his face white with pain.
Catherine agreed. At least one bullet had hit him somewhere. Though, by the response she was getting it wasn't fatal. And that, at least was a good thing. "Okay," she said, her voice sounding more in charge than she felt. "I'm just going to call 911, okay? I'm staying right here." Upon saying this, she dug into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone and made the call, her voice staying level throughout the conversation. Yes, there's been a drive-by shooting – I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab – we've got a victim, shot – no, it doesn't seem to be fatal.
Greg, in the meanwhile, listened to all this, gathering his wits slowly. He didn't remember much about what had just happened. The side of his face was numb, and his right arm was on fire. He didn't feel like he was dying, and oddly that was the first thought that struck him.
"Where does it hurt?"
Catherine's words pulled him back to reality, and the shivers starting to subside, as did the panic in his stomach. He knew something bad was going to happen today. "My arm, and my face," he said slowly.
Sure enough, there was a lot of blood around Greg's face. It couldn't be that bad, she told herself determinedly. Or Greg wouldn't be talking right now. His arm was a different matter. The blood was oozing out alarmingly.
"Okay, just stay right where you are," she said quietly. "There's an ambulance on its way. I'm going to call Grissom now, tell him what's happened. I'm still not going anywhere."
At that, Greg gave a weak smile. How forced it was, Catherine couldn't tell, but it was a smile none-the-less. "I'm not five anymore, y'know."
"With you," she quipped back, "I can never be sure."
She paused for a moment before shaking her head and making the call. Greg stayed where he was, listening in on Catherine's half of the conversation. It wasn't a long call, evidently Grissom wanted to see how much damage there was, to crime scene and criminalists alike, and wanted to get there quickly. Catherine still had her "calm" voice on, trying her hardest not to worry him with the news. Greg imagined Grissom would network, heading for his car and calling someone else, who would gather the rest of the team. It had become a crime scene within a crime scene, and so it deserved specialist treatment. That meant "all hands on deck" in Greg's experience, as far as Greg's experience went on these things.
That was when he heard the sirens. Police or ambulance, he really didn't give a damn. It was going to be okay. And Catherine could stop worrying so much.
~~~
Grissom drove the entire distance to the crime scene without stopping, and speeding the entire time. And if a cop had wanted to pull him over they would've had to wait until he got to where he was going. Pulling around the corner, his heart skipped a beat. It wasn't right when you saw all those sirens and you knew it related to someone you knew. Catherine, Gil knew, would have been more concerned about Greg than herself, and that made him worry about her too. Maybe more so than he worried about Greg.
He pulled up to the curb and nearly fell out of the car, looking around for the two. Catherine was the one he spotted first, standing and talking to one of the policemen. Probably giving some kind of statement. And so, Grissom made towards her, intent on seeing how she was. She turned away, evidently having just finished as he approached her. "Gil," she said. The word was simple, but hemmed with relief. She could let someone else be in charge now.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. A little shaken, but it's nothing a night's sleep won't cure."
"And Greg?" Gil said this slowly, fearing the worst. He had hardly believed her on the phone, how she said he wasn't fatally wounded. He didn't believe most of what she said when she was panicking. She was too good at playing calm.
"Like I said, it's not fatal." She pointed, and as Grissom followed her finger, he could see Greg getting a check up, seated in the back of the ambulance. Then Gil looked back to Catherine, who was smiling slightly. "They tried to take him away in a gurney, he was terrified. I'm surprised they didn't sedate him."
"Greg? Sedated?" The thought also brought the smallest of smirks to Grissom's face. "It's about time someone did."
Catherine nodded. "So, I haven't killed him yet." Though it's twice I've tried, she admitted privately, guiltily. "He's going to be okay."
Gil nodded, glancing again at Greg, then back at Catherine, and trying to convince his heart to stop racing. "Well, let's go make sure."
"What could possibly be in my eye?" grumbled Greg upon their approach, as the paramedic was flicking a torch on and off in his eyes.
The medic, a young woman, laughed slightly. "Nothing really. It's all about how much your pupils contract, helps us make sure your reactions are up to scratch." She turned off the torch with a friendly smile. "Which, sir, yours are. You had a lucky escape."
"Tell me about it," said Catherine, still looking tired, but entitled to it. "I thought he was dead."
Greg, upon hearing her voice, turned his gaze towards them, taking in the fact that Grissom was also present. At that thought, he blushed. He'd screwed up again. And during his big field outing too. How sucky was his day going to get? Forgetting his arm was resting in a sling, he made to move it, wincing as the punctured limb protested to use.
"How're you doing?" Gil's question was, for once, not cryptic, throwing Greg slightly as he made his reply.
"I'm fine. Apparently I'm lucky to be alive."
"So I've heard." Grissom paused. "So, how bad is it?"
"Scored a bull's eye to my arm, bullet went clean through from one side to the other. It's probably in a wall somewhere," he grumbled, unconsciously touching his elbow as he spoke, "and I got one across the face. Would've killed me if it was much closer."
For the first time, Grissom noticed a long band-aid running from just past the tech's mouth to just under his ear. "Is that deep?"
Greg shook his head. "It just looks bad from the outside. It should heal up okay though. They say it needs some stitches."
Gil frowned at the last statement. Needing stitches meant it was usually just as bad as it looked. "I'll sort out your paperwork, okay?"
Greg blinked at that statement. Grissom and paperwork didn't usually belong in the same sentence. "What?"
"For leave. You're not coming in like that."
"You've gotta be kidding!" Greg's voice reflected the expression on his face, pure disbelief. "I've got an arm in a sling – that's all!"
"Greg," mediated Catherine. "You've just been shot. That might mean you're some kind of target."
"You were here too," he pointed out angrily.
"But I wasn't shot."
"It was a close thing!"
"Okay, okay." This time it was Grissom's turn to mediate. "Here's the deal, you work half shifts for me, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing."
"That's total BS!"
"It's that or nothing." He watched Greg open his mouth to retaliate. "I can have you forcibly kept out of the building. And I will."
Greg then paused for a moment, glaring impressively at the supervisor. Then he relented, knowing that Grissom meant every word. "Okay, fine. I guess I can live with that."
"That's good," said Grissom, turning at the sound of more tires up the road. "And here comes the rest of the welcome wagon."
As though to punctuate his comment, the three other CSIs tumbled, almost comically, out of the car and made a beeline for them. It was only then that Greg realised how much well wishing he was going to have to endure in the next few days.