Privacy by SLynn

Disclaimer: It's all mine, because yeah, this is what I'd do with my free time if I actually owned these characters.

Chapter 8: I Live with it Every Day

Over a quick dinner Greg told Sara about his encounter with Mitch Anderson. He'd meant to tell her early but it really had just slipped his mind. She was glad to hear that he'd spoken with Brass and that Jim had sent a few guys down to talk with the guy that afternoon. Brass had told Greg after the interrogation that in all likelihood, after what he'd heard back, the guy should be leaving them alone now. The rest of the shift passed quickly and they both returned in much better moods.

After thoroughly testing every food on the Warner's table Greg and Warrick deduced how the poison was distributed. The salad dressing. Unfortunately for them the chef was a bit of a neat freak and looked to have continuously wiped down the plates and decanters. The only prints they'd found were hers. They still had two unknown sets in the kitchen and not enough to charge anyone.

An hour before shift change Warrick was taking a break from the case and skimming the local paper. He'd run out and grabbed it, hot of the press, and some coffee and was just trying to pass a few minutes and let his mind clear. What he read didn't help.

"Griss," he said coming into his office not long after, shutting the door, "I think we've got a problem."

"With the case?" Grissom asked, looking up from the reports he'd been reviewing.

"No," Warrick said dropping the paper on to his desk.

Grissom picked it up and quickly read the article over; it wasn't hard to miss what Warrick had wanted him to read.

"Greg gave an interview?"

"No," Warrick said shaking his head, "I heard him talking with Brass tonight, I guess he'd asked for a little back up with telling this guy off."

"It looks like it didn't work."

Warrick rolled his eyes and said nothing.

"Has he seen this?" Grissom asked, quickly scanning it over again.

"I doubt it. That's the early edition, only one it the lab likely. Besides, he only reads the comics."

Grissom looked at it once more, studied it.

"What should we do? Tell him?" Warrick asked.

Grissom nodded and Warrick got up to find him. It wasn't hard to do, Greg was in the computer lab with Archie, they'd been researching local vendors of blowfish for the last hour.

"Greg," Warrick said from the door, "boss needs to see you."

He didn't get up right away, just held up a hand indicating he needed a minute.

"Now Greg," Warrick called growing impatient.

He knew he shouldn't be short with him, but couldn't help it. He was angry. Not with Greg, this wasn't his fault. He was angry at what was happening to Greg.

"Can you hold that for me?" Greg asked to Archie, still scanning the screen as he stood.

"I'll print it off and put it on disk for the record."

"Thanks man," Greg said clapping him on the shoulder as he made his way to the door, "What's up?"

Warrick just inclined his head towards Grissom's office and led the way. Once inside, Warrick shut the three of them in and Greg was now beginning to worry that he'd screwed up something big. He just didn't know what.

"Is this about the interrogation?" he asked looking between the two.

"Have a seat," Grissom said, getting up and walking around his desk to him.

Greg suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. The expression on Grissom's face was concern, on Warrick's worry. His stomach felt cold.

"No one's been hurt," Warrick assured him.

He'd seen the panic creeping across his face. Knew they'd scared him, couldn't blame him for thinking it. Sara and Catherine had gone out an hour ago and now they were dragging him off without a word. He'd probably react the same way in Greg's shoes.

"Well what is it then?" Greg asked relieved. Knowing Sara was okay was all he needed to hear. It didn't matter what they said now.

"Read," Grissom said as he handed him the newspaper.

Greg gave him one last look before turning his attention to the paper in his hands.

"I don't get it," he said after a few moments silence, "do you think this arson case is…"

"Not that one," Grissom interrupted, "underneath it."

Greg looked again and this time found what they'd been so worried about. By the time he'd finished he'd lost most of the color in his face.

Mitch Anderson had written a story about him. A very through one. He knew it all, well almost it all. He'd detailed Greg's cancer, his visits with Dr. Sanchez, her murder, his visits with Dr. Fenton, and Greg's role in his death. Some of the details were sketchy. It was never stated exactly what Greg's visits to either psychiatrist had been for. It was also vague as to the actual encounter that had led to Dr. Fenton's death, but it was mostly correct. It did go on to state that Greg had been ordered into treatment by the Las Vegas Police Department and that he was still an active crime scene investigator. While never coming out and saying it directly, the article did its best to infer that he might not be fit do so.

Greg read it three times in silence.

"That it?" Greg asked, looking up.

His face was blank. Grissom had seen him like that only a few times before, it hadn't been good. Warrick didn't have to see his face to hear his tone. Greg sounded off.

"We didn't want you hearing about this from someone else," Warrick tried offering.

"It's no big deal, right?" Greg said shrugging his shoulders. "No one reads this thing anyway."

"I'll admit it isn't one of the more reputable papers in the city," Grissom agreed still trying to get a feel for Greg's lack of emotion, "but I guess I expected you to…"

"To what? I'm not losing my job over it, right?"

"Of course not."

"It's nothing," Greg said as he stood up, "Can I go? I've got fish to find."

Grissom just nodded and Warrick stepped out of his way as he left.

"That was…" Warrick started but couldn't finish, just shook his head in disbelief.

"Strange," Grissom said.

Greg didn't go back to the computer lab. Instead he headed to the roof still clutching the article. He read it over and over and over again. It's where Sara found him after their shift had ended, the sun already up.

"Warrick told me," she said as she came up and sat beside him.

Greg nodded but didn't look at her. The paper was now crumbled in his hands; he didn't seem to want to let it go.

"You okay?" she asked, unsure how she felt herself. It had taken her a full half hour to calm herself down enough to come up after him.

He hadn't answered her, just continued to look away.

She pulled the paper out of his hands and wrapped her own around his. He held them, clutched them almost as tightly as he had the newspaper but he wasn't talking. Greg wasn't even willing to look at her. Sara thought she knew why, it looked as if he'd been crying.

"Let's go home," she offered.

He consented by standing up. Greg let go of her for a moment to drag his hands across his face before nodding and looking down.

Despite having driven in separately, Sara drove him back. They'd gotten out of the building as efficiently as possible, using the back door in the break room to the garage. She called from the road and asked Warrick to clock them both out. Sara didn't ask anything else of him and Greg wasn't offering up much. Mostly he stared out the window.

Sara was beginning to think she'd have to call Dr. Jennings. Greg made a bee-line for the bedroom without as much as a word to her. She didn't know what to do. Sara was caught between giving him space and giving him comfort. After fifteen minutes of pacing in the front room, she walked back to theirs.

The room let in just enough light so that she could see him. He was there, sitting on his side of the bed, facing the wall. His head was cradled in his hands. Sara was certain he hadn't moved from the spot since coming back there. She saw him lift his head a little as she'd opened the door. He knew she was there.

"I haven't really thought about it," he said so faintly that she just caught the words.

Sara took a few steps towards him but didn't speak. It wasn't good to interrupt Greg during times like this. He'd likely just stop talking all together. It was better to just let him get it out any way he could.

"Even when we went to therapy together, I didn't. You talked about it, made it easy. I could just nod and not really hear it."

Sara sat down beside him but he still hadn't moved. It was true, what he was saying. She realized it now. He'd never volunteered information during their mandatory two-week course.

"Not even with Dr. Jennings. She tried but I just didn't want too. I wasn't ready…"

Greg's voice cracked as he tried saying it and Sara draped an arm over his shoulder.

"But I read it. Over and over. There it was, black and white. I killed someone."

"Greg it was self defense. He was trying…"

"No," he said pulling away from her and standing up, "it doesn't matter. I still, I didn't have…"

"It was an accident."

Greg finally locked eyes with her for a split second. He was pacing now, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What if it wasn't?" he asked sitting back down next to her.

"Of course it was."

"No," he said shaking his head, "I thought he… he hurt you. I saw you hit the wall and fall like a rag doll Sara. I thought you were dead."

"That doesn't mean anything. You were so full of meds at the time Greg; there was no way you were thinking straight."

"But I meant to hurt him. I know it. I can feel that."

Sara took his hands into hers again, unsure what to say. She remembered the night vividly, probably better then Greg did himself. He wasn't a murderer, but she knew what he was saying. She'd seen it in his eyes. Greg had wanted to hurt him.

"Two police officers said that you fired in self defense."

"I hit him square in the chest."

"Because you were trained too."

He shook his head again. She hadn't realized all the guilt he'd been carrying, hiding for so long over this. And the worse part was that James Fenton wasn't worth it.

"Greg," she said trying to reason with him, "A man you trusted to help you pumped you full of drugs, fed you lies, broke into your home and tried to kill you. You are entitled to feel angry at him. To hate him even. You didn't do anything wrong."

Greg had his head back in his hands, shaking it as if to shake off her words. He hadn't wanted to think about it despite having lived with it every day since it happened. The article had only pushed the thoughts from the back of his mind to the front. Loud and clear.

"It didn't entitle me to kill him."