One Of Us 5/?
-------------------
45 MINUTES LATER
"Warrick. Warrick, wake up."
"Huh.. wha... What is it, Sara? Is Greg okay?"
"I haven't heard anything new. I woke you 'cause your pager's been wailing for ten minutes and you were out like a light."
"Oh.... yeah. Thanks." He said sheepishly, reaching to silence the offending object. He looked up from the device to see Grissom standing in the doorway to the break room.
"Is that from Trace?"
"Yeah. I told him to page me when he had the results on those glass fragments."
"Once you get that taken care of, both of you go home."
"That where you're heading?"
Gil merely looked at him in silence. "Right, I should know by now not to ask." Warrick commented with a wry smile as he rose to his feet. "You will get some sleep in the next twenty-four hours, right?"
"Probably."
Warrick shook his head and slid by his boss on his way to gather his test results. Sara leaned back against the wall, eyes on the floor and mind far from the spot where she stood. "You alright?"
"I passed alright a couple miles back. Right now I'm coming up on ' pissed enough to break bones with my bare hands '. "
Grissom studied her carefully.
"Your anger is justifiable. We're all fighting that right now, but you can't let it get in the way of your objectivity."
"It won't."
"Good. Nick's already trying to back out of the investigation. If I can't change his mind, I'll need your clear head and solid case-work even more. I need to know that you can put aside your emotions long enough to help me break this case..... to get justice for Greg."
Sara straightened up, hands rubbing up and down her arms as if an unpleasantly cool breeze had touched her skin. In Grissom's eyes she watched the worry and fear surface for a moment before he submerged them again, and she suddenly knew Warrick had been right; the emotions were as close to the surface for Gil as for the rest of them. He was simply far more practiced at shunting away everything but what was relevant in the moment in order to focus and see what others often missed. At the same time she admired the quality in him, she acknowledged a crumb of regret at the lack of it in herself.
"You got it. I won't let you down, boss."
"I never doubted that. Good-night, Sara."
"Night."
-----------------------------------
"Candle wax. So the glass was from..."
".... candle holders. That's the most likely answer anyway."
"Anything special about the wax?"
"Afraid not. It's typical commercial grade wax. It's sold in hobby stores and new age places all over the country to people who dip their own candles."
"They still exist?" Warrick replied, laughing slightly. "I thought that was strictly a Seventies thing."
"Are you kidding? The anti-tech, militia and back-to-God's-country demographic is threatening to become a majority. Candle making is more popular than ever."
"Hmmm. So if the wax is a dead-end, the glass is still the best lead to follow."
"I'd say so, yeah. If the candle holders were hand blown, like I suspect, the maker won't be hard to find. Anyone who can get violet has been at their craft for a long while. You're looking for a master." The tech informed him, handing Warrick the printed sheets containing the test results and his conclusions
"Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, have you heard when Greg can have visitors?"
"He's in surgery about now. He'll be out of it most of the morning tomorrow.... might not be a good idea to try an' see him for a couple days. He's been through a lot." Warrick fudged, too physically and emotionally drained to go through the full explanation of why no men were being allowed to see Greg.
"Yeah. I get that. Just... if you could keep us updated? It may not seem like it, but most of the night shift techs are a pretty tight group. Something like this happens to one of us.... we'll do anything we can to help."
"I'll see you get any news the minute after I do. Right now, I'm goin' home to bed. It's been a long, nasty night."
"I hear that. See you tomorrow night."
"Yeah... see you."
------------------------------------
CATHERINE:
Two hours after being driven home, Catherine lay in bed, cursing a brain that simply would not take the hint that it was time to shut down. The all-too real images of Greg's injuries insisted on mixing with conjecture from her vivid imagination and the pairing was slowly driving her insane. She couldn't stop wondering what he'd gone through and whether the drugs would truly keep him from ever remembering the assault. His unconscious reaction to men made her think he remembered every moment, but all she'd heard and read about GHB seemed to say the opposite. On the other hand, none of the studies she'd seen had focused on men or male physiology.
Sighing, Catherine sat up and threw the covers off. How could she not sleep when she was so tired every bone in her body seemed to ache? Surrendering at last, she headed for the bathroom and the bottle of over- the-counter sleep aid she kept there but rarely used. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed a second time and brushed disheveled hair away from her face. She gazed a few seconds longer then drew half a glass of water and downed the pill.
Moving back into her bedroom, she stopped at the small stereo on her dresser and powered it up, lowering the volume on her favorite oldies station almost to inaudibility. Despite this, she still caught a few notes and a word or two as she collapsed into bed again. It was enough for her to recognize the song, which only brought more thoughts of Greg, and as she pulled the covers back over her, she began to softly weep.
.... if the skies above you turn dark and full of clouds
and that old North wind should begin to blow.
Just keep your head together and call my name out loud, now,
And soon I'll be knockin' upon your door.
You just call out my name,
and you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', oh yes I will,
To see you again....
--------------------------------
GIL
Water dripping from his cheeks and forehead back into the men's room sink, Gil reached up blindly to the paper towel dispenser and retrieved two sheets. Once his face was sufficiently dry, he looked up and confronted himself in the mirror. What he saw made him wince internally, though little outward reaction was visible. He had never been overly vain about his appearance, or at least he would never admit to what vanity did exist, but he had to admit he vaguely regretted that he was beginning to look his age.
Turning away from depression inducing contemplations, he left the rest room and walked back to his office. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and wondering why he wasn't at home asleep. The thought process didn't take long to complete. Sleep led to dreams and his dreams were never pleasant experiences, therefore he stayed at work and he stayed awake. At least awake he could somewhat control his mind's ramblings and keep it from producing depraved pictures of what Greg might have gone through during his attack.
Moving into the room finally, Gil sank down into the chair behind his desk. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned forward and interlocked his hands on the desk-top. For the next few minutes, his face became mobile and expressive and his carefully controlled emotions were allowed a rare period of freedom as he quietly prayed for Greg's recovery. When he'd finished, his eyes slipped open again and the intense passion he considered a pre- requisite for prayer was tucked back into its hiding place.
Smiling lightly, he leaned sideways and touched the power button on the small stereo he kept in the office, re-starting the "Touched By An Angel" soundtrack CD he'd been listening to a few nights before. He was fully aware that if anyone who thought they knew him heard him playing this particular music, it would create confusion and unwanted questions, so he only played it on nights like this, when fear of sleep led to embracing paperwork and he felt sure he'd be uninterrupted for a while. The current track was one of his favorites and as the chorus began, he pulled a file in front of him, paging through it slowly, taking notes on a pad and tapping his foot in time to the beautiful, stirring melody.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love.
I'll be the witness in the silences when words are not enough.
With every breath I breathe, I will give thanks to God above.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love....
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------
TBC......
-------------------
45 MINUTES LATER
"Warrick. Warrick, wake up."
"Huh.. wha... What is it, Sara? Is Greg okay?"
"I haven't heard anything new. I woke you 'cause your pager's been wailing for ten minutes and you were out like a light."
"Oh.... yeah. Thanks." He said sheepishly, reaching to silence the offending object. He looked up from the device to see Grissom standing in the doorway to the break room.
"Is that from Trace?"
"Yeah. I told him to page me when he had the results on those glass fragments."
"Once you get that taken care of, both of you go home."
"That where you're heading?"
Gil merely looked at him in silence. "Right, I should know by now not to ask." Warrick commented with a wry smile as he rose to his feet. "You will get some sleep in the next twenty-four hours, right?"
"Probably."
Warrick shook his head and slid by his boss on his way to gather his test results. Sara leaned back against the wall, eyes on the floor and mind far from the spot where she stood. "You alright?"
"I passed alright a couple miles back. Right now I'm coming up on ' pissed enough to break bones with my bare hands '. "
Grissom studied her carefully.
"Your anger is justifiable. We're all fighting that right now, but you can't let it get in the way of your objectivity."
"It won't."
"Good. Nick's already trying to back out of the investigation. If I can't change his mind, I'll need your clear head and solid case-work even more. I need to know that you can put aside your emotions long enough to help me break this case..... to get justice for Greg."
Sara straightened up, hands rubbing up and down her arms as if an unpleasantly cool breeze had touched her skin. In Grissom's eyes she watched the worry and fear surface for a moment before he submerged them again, and she suddenly knew Warrick had been right; the emotions were as close to the surface for Gil as for the rest of them. He was simply far more practiced at shunting away everything but what was relevant in the moment in order to focus and see what others often missed. At the same time she admired the quality in him, she acknowledged a crumb of regret at the lack of it in herself.
"You got it. I won't let you down, boss."
"I never doubted that. Good-night, Sara."
"Night."
-----------------------------------
"Candle wax. So the glass was from..."
".... candle holders. That's the most likely answer anyway."
"Anything special about the wax?"
"Afraid not. It's typical commercial grade wax. It's sold in hobby stores and new age places all over the country to people who dip their own candles."
"They still exist?" Warrick replied, laughing slightly. "I thought that was strictly a Seventies thing."
"Are you kidding? The anti-tech, militia and back-to-God's-country demographic is threatening to become a majority. Candle making is more popular than ever."
"Hmmm. So if the wax is a dead-end, the glass is still the best lead to follow."
"I'd say so, yeah. If the candle holders were hand blown, like I suspect, the maker won't be hard to find. Anyone who can get violet has been at their craft for a long while. You're looking for a master." The tech informed him, handing Warrick the printed sheets containing the test results and his conclusions
"Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, have you heard when Greg can have visitors?"
"He's in surgery about now. He'll be out of it most of the morning tomorrow.... might not be a good idea to try an' see him for a couple days. He's been through a lot." Warrick fudged, too physically and emotionally drained to go through the full explanation of why no men were being allowed to see Greg.
"Yeah. I get that. Just... if you could keep us updated? It may not seem like it, but most of the night shift techs are a pretty tight group. Something like this happens to one of us.... we'll do anything we can to help."
"I'll see you get any news the minute after I do. Right now, I'm goin' home to bed. It's been a long, nasty night."
"I hear that. See you tomorrow night."
"Yeah... see you."
------------------------------------
CATHERINE:
Two hours after being driven home, Catherine lay in bed, cursing a brain that simply would not take the hint that it was time to shut down. The all-too real images of Greg's injuries insisted on mixing with conjecture from her vivid imagination and the pairing was slowly driving her insane. She couldn't stop wondering what he'd gone through and whether the drugs would truly keep him from ever remembering the assault. His unconscious reaction to men made her think he remembered every moment, but all she'd heard and read about GHB seemed to say the opposite. On the other hand, none of the studies she'd seen had focused on men or male physiology.
Sighing, Catherine sat up and threw the covers off. How could she not sleep when she was so tired every bone in her body seemed to ache? Surrendering at last, she headed for the bathroom and the bottle of over- the-counter sleep aid she kept there but rarely used. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she sighed a second time and brushed disheveled hair away from her face. She gazed a few seconds longer then drew half a glass of water and downed the pill.
Moving back into her bedroom, she stopped at the small stereo on her dresser and powered it up, lowering the volume on her favorite oldies station almost to inaudibility. Despite this, she still caught a few notes and a word or two as she collapsed into bed again. It was enough for her to recognize the song, which only brought more thoughts of Greg, and as she pulled the covers back over her, she began to softly weep.
.... if the skies above you turn dark and full of clouds
and that old North wind should begin to blow.
Just keep your head together and call my name out loud, now,
And soon I'll be knockin' upon your door.
You just call out my name,
and you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', oh yes I will,
To see you again....
--------------------------------
GIL
Water dripping from his cheeks and forehead back into the men's room sink, Gil reached up blindly to the paper towel dispenser and retrieved two sheets. Once his face was sufficiently dry, he looked up and confronted himself in the mirror. What he saw made him wince internally, though little outward reaction was visible. He had never been overly vain about his appearance, or at least he would never admit to what vanity did exist, but he had to admit he vaguely regretted that he was beginning to look his age.
Turning away from depression inducing contemplations, he left the rest room and walked back to his office. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and wondering why he wasn't at home asleep. The thought process didn't take long to complete. Sleep led to dreams and his dreams were never pleasant experiences, therefore he stayed at work and he stayed awake. At least awake he could somewhat control his mind's ramblings and keep it from producing depraved pictures of what Greg might have gone through during his attack.
Moving into the room finally, Gil sank down into the chair behind his desk. Closing his eyes briefly, he leaned forward and interlocked his hands on the desk-top. For the next few minutes, his face became mobile and expressive and his carefully controlled emotions were allowed a rare period of freedom as he quietly prayed for Greg's recovery. When he'd finished, his eyes slipped open again and the intense passion he considered a pre- requisite for prayer was tucked back into its hiding place.
Smiling lightly, he leaned sideways and touched the power button on the small stereo he kept in the office, re-starting the "Touched By An Angel" soundtrack CD he'd been listening to a few nights before. He was fully aware that if anyone who thought they knew him heard him playing this particular music, it would create confusion and unwanted questions, so he only played it on nights like this, when fear of sleep led to embracing paperwork and he felt sure he'd be uninterrupted for a while. The current track was one of his favorites and as the chorus began, he pulled a file in front of him, paging through it slowly, taking notes on a pad and tapping his foot in time to the beautiful, stirring melody.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love.
I'll be the witness in the silences when words are not enough.
With every breath I breathe, I will give thanks to God above.
For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love....
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------
TBC......