Issues by SLynn

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

Notes: Happy New Year!

Chapter 31: Relief

Brass had been surprised at Grissom's call. They'd just arrived at the police station. Nick and Amy had followed him, were in his office when he took the call. It had taken a few minutes for it to sink in, sink in and make sense.

"What was that about?" Nick asked.

Brass didn't look up right away after hanging up the phone. Instead he stood.

"You two," he said grabbing his things again. "Get back to the crime lab. Grissom needs you."

"What's happened?" Nick asked again.

"We've got a lead."

"On the guy?" Nick asked, following him back down the hall, watching as he barked out orders. Demanding people get to their feet and follow him.

He stopped only once they reached the dispatch desk, having never fully answered any of Nick's questions.

"Get some cars over to Royal Palms, apartment 208. Now. I'm following behind."

"That's Greg's place," Nick said. "What's happened?"

Brass finally turned round to him. Nick looked a little sick with worry now, Amy worse.

"The guy, Sara got a hit, a name. Only guy with connections to all the victims. A doctor James Fenton. Grissom just told me. He's worried, can't reach either Sara or Greg on their cells. Apparently this guy is Greg's shrink. You were right; he probably set this whole thing up with Amy to lead us off the trail."

Nick shook his head, incredulous. He hadn't wanted to be right. Not like this.

"Catherine and Warrick have already been by his place, but found nothing. They just got back from his offices, nothing there either, just his car."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," Brass said firmly, "Grissom wants you back at the lab. Both of you."

Nick set his jaw, but said no more. As quickly as they could they got back into his jeep and headed towards the lab.

"Is this real?" Amy asked quietly.

It didn't seem like it. Nothing did. They could both be dead, no one knew.

"It'll be okay," Nick said firmly, taking her hand in his. "They're fine. It'll be fine."

Amy looked at him, but he just stayed focused on the road. Turning away she wished she had his optimism. She really did.

Greg had staggered out of the bathroom towards the sound of the voice. He had a hard time walking, but he'd managed. Somehow he'd managed.

There he was again, Dr. Fenton. He had Sara in front of him, pulled close with a knife at her neck. She looked slightly dazed and was bleeding a bit from the corner of her mouth.

"Come have a seat Greg," he said, indicating the chair again with his head. "I promise to make it quick for her."

Greg didn't move.

"I can't be here all night," he began again. "We have to get you on your way. I thought she might enjoy seeing you go first. Let's find out if Sara's a spiritual person too. It's a very moving experience. Have a seat and we can begin again."

"Let her go," Greg managed. It was the clearest his head had felt in hours. Whatever was causing this must be wearing off.

"You're in no position…"

Dr. Fenton stopped abruptly. He saw it now, why Greg wasn't cooperating. He'd leveled his reason at him. Greg had Sara's gun.

"She'll be dead before you can pull the trigger," he reasoned.

"So will you then," Greg said flatly.

It still felt like a nightmare to him. He hoped Dr. Fenton didn't see what he could, that his hands were still shaking. Greg had never raised a gun at anyone before, just paper targets. He didn't look at Sara, couldn't. If he did, he'd put the gun down. He was aiming at Fenton but she was so close. Greg wasn't sure he could pull the trigger if he had too, but that wasn't important. Getting Fenton to believe he would was.

"I think you're lying to me."

"Just let her go and I'll put it down."

"Greg," Sara started to say, but Dr. Fenton pulled her tighter around the waist, pushing the air out of her.

Forgetting himself, he looked into her eyes. She was afraid. Terrified. So was he. Dr. Fenton smiled when he turned his eyes back to him.

"You're not going to shoot me are you? You can't."

Greg shook his head, but he had lost some of his nerve. His vision was swimming again. He had a hard time keeping it all in focus. He was praying now to just stay awake and on his feet.

"You don't know what I can do."

Dr. Fenton laughed. It was sharp to his ears.

"I know you Greg, everything you've told me. All your secrets. You're in over your head now. Just put it down."

Dr. Fenton moved the knife closer to Sara's throat. Greg took a step forward, steadied the gun with his free hand.

"Half a pound of pressure," Greg said, "that's all it takes. I could take your head off with this."

"Have you ever shot someone before? Ever? I don't think so. We'd of talked about it by now. You'll miss. Take her head off instead."

"Did we ever talk about my marksmanship skills?" Greg asked in return.

He was too scared to give off his normal tics. The ones he had when he lied, or even stretched the truth some. Greg wasn't a bad marksman, it was true, but he wasn't a crack shot. He knew he wouldn't fire that gun unless he had too and then only if Sara was well out of the way. Dr. Fenton, judging by the look in his eyes, wasn't as certain as he had been. Wasn't sure about Greg right now.

The stand off might have lasted longer had they not heard footsteps coming up the steps outside the door. Heavy footsteps, like someone running.

Greg, not thinking, still feeling the medication in his system causing his mind to cloud, turned to look. It was all the opportunity Dr. Fenton needed.

In a quick movement he threw Sara up against the wall, stunning her with the sheer force of it. Greg turned back and saw her fall. Saw her crumple to the ground and yelled. Momentarily he lowered the gun, still not thinking. Everything was moving so slow. Dr. Fenton was on top of him, lunging and pushed him against the wall.

The struggle continued.

Greg heard pounding at the door. He thought he might be bleeding, maybe he'd been stabbed, but he couldn't feel it. His adrenaline was too high. Greg was just trying to stay on his feet, not an easy task. More importantly he was trying to keep the gun out of Dr. Fenton's hands.

Despite his best efforts, he felt himself sliding down the wall. His legs had given out. Greg felt he was blacking out again. Saw those stars. But he still had the gun, and someone was still trying to get in from outside. He thought if he could just hold on for another second, help was almost there.

Just as the door flew open, Dr. Fenton lunged at him once more, knife high in the air, and Greg did the only thing he could. He fired the gun.

It was as if time sped up again.

Dr. Fenton fell next to him; momentum carried him despite being shot. There were people shouting, yelling at him to drop the gun. He'd just managed it before Greg felt himself slipping out of consciousness.

"Hang in there kid," he heard a familiar voice.

When he next opened his eyes, he fit the voice to the owner. Brass was there. He looked worried. He was standing over him; a couple people he didn't know were nearby. Looking at him. Looking him over. Greg wondered why they had a stretcher.

"Sara?" he tried asking.

"Don't speak sir," one of the men next to him said. Greg recognized the uniform, he was an EMT. He even thought he knew him.

"She's okay Greg," Brass answered. "She's in the ambulance already. Don't worry about her."

Relief washed over him as he shut his eyes once more.

Waking had been a slow process.

Greg felt that someone was beside him. Sitting nearby. He moved his fingers slightly, trying to touch their hand.

Sara took it in hers and smiled as he opened his eyes.

"They're thinking of naming this the 'Greg Sanders' suite."

He laughed and then wished he hadn't. It hurt to laugh.

"Sorry," she said coming closer. "I was just happy to see you. You shouldn't be laughing."

"I'm not now," he said weakly. He'd hardly recognized his own voice. It was like gravel. "How long have I been out?"

"About seven hours," she answered.

"Really?" he whispered. It was easier that way.

"Yeah," she nodded. "They had to get you into surgery right away."

"Surgery for what? Was I shot?"

Greg had just noticed the cast on his left arm.

"No, stabbed. Five times, but you got lucky. Nothing vital, just some internal bleeding. And your arm, it's not broke they just don't want you using it till it heals."

She looked like she might cry.

"What about you? Are you okay?"

"Me?" she asked, "I'm good, fine. Just a little shaken up."

"Come here," he said, wanting her close. It was all coming back now.

Sara obliged, got as close to him as a hospital bed would allow. As close as she could without him having to move. Most of his wounds were right to his midsection. Moving around was going to be painful for awhile.

Greg leaned up to her and found that out the hard way, but it didn't stop him. He still kissed her. Sara was crying now.

"I was so scared," she said into his ear, leaning in closer almost shaking.

"Me too," he returned, "but it's over now, right? They've got him. It's over."

Sara stopped and looked into his eyes. Trying to gage how much she should tell him.

"They got him, right?" he asked again. She could hear it in his voice, real fear.

"He's dead."

Sara saw it sinking in. The wheels were turning. He was remembering it now.

"I shot him."

"Yes."

"I…"

Greg didn't finish it, turned from her slightly. Feeling what, relief? Maybe that it was over, but something more.

He'd killed someone. He'd shot and killed someone.

Greg didn't know how to feel about that.