Issues by SLynn

Disclaimer: I own only the thoughts in my head and the characters you don't recognize.

Chapter 23: Rationalize

Monday came quickly.

Greg was feeling a little better now. Sara was still insisting he should at least phone Dr. Tracey, but he had continued to put it off. It was just the flu, it had to have been. Everyone on day shift had had it at least once and coming off of the chemo he was particularly prone to these things. He'd just been thankful it hadn't been worse and that it was finally going away.

Amy was doing better. Someone was with her pretty much around the clock now. Mostly it was Nick. He'd taken off all of Sunday to stay with her. The bruises were still vibrant against her natural fair skin, but looked to be fading. To bad they'd still come up empty on the case.

Well, almost empty.

Late in the day on Monday Sophia had tracked down their bomb maker. There had been no print visible initially, but after thoroughly cracking open and examining every square inch they'd hit pay dirt.

His name was Peter Nesbit and Greg had found it familiar. It hadn't taken either of them long to realize where they'd seen it, he was one of Dr. Sanchez's patients. Specifically he was the guy Catherine had found most suspicious, the one with Oedipus complex. He'd also been arrested before for assault.

They'd brought him in for initial questioning, booked him for making the bomb and the threat, but had nothing else. Greg had been hoping for some kind of break down in the interrogation room followed by a full confession, but that only happens on television. Peter Nesbit, if he was their murderer, had only said one word upon being taken in. 'Lawyer'.

Although not certain he was their guy, Greg had felt relieved. But even that relief was short lived.

Two hours after Mr. Nesbit had gone into lockup a courier from Channel Nine news arrived, there'd been another letter delivered to their station.

Sophia called in Grissom and had waited to open it until he'd arrived. This one was in no better condition then the previous. The entire news staff had had a good look at it before they had.

The letter itself was short. It only contained one line. 'A Present'. With it, wrapped inside and tied with a ribbon was a lock of hair. It was easy to see that there were two types of hair present. There had to be. Half of it was curly and red and the other half was dark brown and straight. He had a good guess as to whose the red hair was. Only one victim had been a redhead, Dr. Spencer.

Grissom gave the sample over to Greg and he immediately went to work on it.

Sorting hair, even hair that is obviously two different colors, wasn't easy. It took a lot of time. Once done, however, it still didn't look right to him. Greg had gotten it into two separate piles when he'd noticed why.

He was there that night until nearly eight, but finally done. The samples were sorted, DNA extracted and comparisons complete.

"Got a minute," he said, knocking once on Grissom's door. Grissom hadn't left since Sophia had called him earlier that day.

"Done?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

Greg had shut the door, nodding slowly still holding the report. Grissom waited for him.

"Finally," he said sinking into his now favorite chair.

"Both samples?"

"That's just it," Greg said, giving him an uneasy smile. "It wasn't just two samples, it was three. Three completely even separate types of hair."

"Define even."

"Even like exactly even, seventy-three strands of each. Each perfectly cut to two inches in length."

"Do we know whose they are?"

"Yes. All three."

Now Grissom knew something was wrong. Greg, even if he hadn't relished his role in the lab as of late, loved to give results. Loved finding the answers. This looked painful for him.

"First was easiest, it was red. Obvious choice our only redheaded victim, Dr. Spencer. It matched right up. Second wasn't as easy, just a lucky guess. It was dark brown and on a hunch I checked it against Dr. Sanchez and it matched."

"And the third?"

"The third was black. I tried it first against our only known victims with black hair who's DNA we had on file, Juanita Juarez and Jaime Taylor. No luck."

Greg stopped talking abruptly; he took in a deep breath and tried to ready himself to say this next part.

"Greg," Grissom said before he could continue, "you checked the third sample against Amy didn't you?"

Greg nodded.

"Just finished. We're all on file. I was hoping it wouldn't hit."

Grissom didn't need to hear anymore. Greg handed the report over to him.

"I'll get Brass on the line. Ask Nick to bring in Amy early, we can sit down and discuss what to do next." Grissom said, more for his benefit then Greg's. That's when he really saw it, the absolute fatigue on Greg's face.

"How are you doing?" he asked, as if suddenly concerned about nothing else.

"It must be bad if you're asking," Greg said before he could stop himself, "No offense."

"None taken," Grissom said with an amused smile.

"Sara's been on my case to go see Dr. Tracey. It's a cold, it's nothing. I just haven't been keeping anything down."

"Anything?" he asked, still concerned.

"Not nothing, I mean just not much." Greg suddenly felt scrutinized again. He hated that feeling.

"Go home," he ordered, "get some rest. We'll take care of things here."

Greg nodded and left as quickly as he could. He hated to lie. The truth was, despite feeling much better today, the last few days had been bad. The worst of it had been late Friday night and into Saturday morning. Then he really hadn't kept anything down, not even water. Today he'd had his first full meal since lunch on Friday, and it had only been soup and crackers.

The worst part of it all was he knew he should be listening to them. Greg really should go see Dr. Tracey, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. As terrifying as being so sick he'd actually vomited water, it was even more terrifying to consider a relapse. The part of his brain that he allowed to think for him way too much was already screaming at him to go anywhere but the hospital. That if he did he'd have to start over again. Completely over.

Making his way into the break room, he collapsed into the nearest chair.

He'd head home soon, but it was getting so late he thought he might as well just stick around for a little bit and see if he could catch Nick and Amy when they came in. Instead he caught Sara.

"Why are you still here?" she asked.

"Work. Needed doing." He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Greg, you should be home in bed."

"I know, I know. I was going but I just stopped here instead. For a minute."

Sara wasn't buying it.

"Anything good today?" she asked, sensing he wasn't going to let her push him out the door just yet. Thinking she might have to drag him anyway.

"Another letter from our guy showed up today."

"Get anything off of it?"

"Not off, in."

Before she could ask what that was supposed to mean Greg continued talking.

"And Sophia caught the bomber. The attempted bomber. The guy."

"Not the one we're after?"

"Don't know. Could be, but we don't know. He could have dropped the letter off first though, couldn't he?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sara said starting to get concerned.

Greg had his eyes shut and his head leaned all the way back, resting it against the back of the chair.

"Hey guys," Catherine said joining them, early for the night.

"Hi," Sara said to her but without looking away from Greg.

Catherine caught her concern immediately. Felt it herself.

"Greg," she said coming over and putting a hand on his forehead, "you're burning up."

"What?" he said suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He looked from one to the next, clearly confused. He'd actually fallen asleep talking to her; at least Sara hoped he'd fallen asleep.

"You've got a fever. Why are you still at work?" Catherine restated.

Greg ran his hands over his arms. He didn't feel warm at all, he felt cold. So cold he even had goose bumps.

"I'm taking you home," Sara said standing as she did so.

"I'm…"

"Greg," Sara cut him off, "no you're not. You're going home, right now."

"Okay," Greg said standing up too. For half a second he thought he might fall right back down. It had come and gone in a second, but Catherine and Sara had seen it. Catherine had even reached out and touched his elbow, steadied him.

He didn't fight it any more.

Sara drove him home with virtually nothing to say. She'd waited until they were back. Held it all in until they were completely alone.

"I'm scared."

"What?" Greg asked, not sure he'd heard her.

"Greg, I'm scared. You have to go see Dr. Tracey. This could be serious. And I know you don't want too. That you're scared too."

"Sara…"

"No," she said. She was going to have her say. "Listen, please. If it's back, we can handle it."

Greg turned away from her, momentarily frustrated.

"Sara, you're overreacting. It's the flu for crying out loud."

"You don't know that because you won't even go find out."

"I don't need to find out."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"What?" he asked, starting to feel that familiar anger resurfacing. "What am I doing to myself?"

"This. Rationalize. You rationalize everything. Everyone can see your sick, everyone but you. For once could you just not be so hard headed and listen to what I'm saying."

"If I go," he said feeling defeated, "will you let up? Please. I'll call in the morning, but you can't keep doing this to me?"

"What am I doing to you?"

"Treating me like a child. I know my own limits."

"I don't think you do."

"What?"

"You almost passed out in the break room. You stayed way too late and you're working way too hard. You can't expect to just dive right back in, you're not ready. I hate to say it Greg, but it's true. It's going to take some time. Even when you were on the chemo you never really let up."

"I said I'd go," Greg said evenly cutting her off. Every bit of anger had gone from his voice. "Let's just drop it."

Sara nodded, not convinced she believed him. Not yet.

"I'm going to get some sleep now," he said, hating the tension between them but having no real way to combat it. He wasn't sure that if he did he'd even try.

"I'm calling in sick for you tomorrow."

Greg didn't try to stop her, hardly acknowledged what she'd said. In a way, she wished he would. It would be more like him.

"You'll be okay?" she asked, her voice softer as she was turning to go. Sara was on that night. Needed to get in. He hadn't been lying about that. There was work to be done. But still, she hated fighting with him. Leaving it like this.

"Yeah, fine," he answered, his voice still flat.

Sara said no more. They could work it out in the morning. They always had before. But as she closed the door on her way out of the apartment, she couldn't help but worry this time might be different.