Chapter 2: Blood and Memories
When Grissom finally returned to the lab three weeks later, he felt like he was on display. As he walked down the hall, heads turned to stare; when he met their eyes they looked away quickly.
He couldn't make it to his office fast enough, and as soon as he was there he closed the door behind him and sank into his chair with a groan of relief. His ribs were still sore, and every movement caused them to ache even more.
His doctor had said he should take at least another week off, but he couldn't bear the thought of being stuck alone in his townhouse for seven more days, his only company the screams of the other victims and the echoing sounds of the gunshots that had killed them.
Grissom had hoped that he could just forget about everything as soon as the case had been taken care of and he had answered everyone's questions, but no such luck. Ecklie had wrapped up the case within a day, and Grissom had been cleared to return to work, but still the memories remained.
Sleeping was worse than being awake. When he slept, the images were added to the sounds, and the whole scene played over and over again in his head like some freakish horror movie until he woke up screaming, soaked in sweat, his ribs aching fiercely and his side on fire.
The stress had also caused his migraines to increase in size and frequency. Now he had one nearly every day. He had lost weight, and had developed the nervous habit of bouncing his knee up and down when he was sitting down.
He hadn't told anyone about the nightmares, the voices or the migraines. Not even Catherine. He just couldn't bring himself to say it, because then they would be all over him, dissecting his personal life the way Doc Robbins dissected bodies. And that was one thing he would never tolerate. One thing he would never be able to handle.
So he was silent. He spent his days and nights sitting on his couch watching TV, until he knew as much about birds as Nick did, and the stats from every baseball game in those three weeks were burned into his brain.
When the screaming became too much he would repeat the English and Latin names of every bug he could think of out loud. Until he could get back to his best distraction - work – bugs and baseball stats would have to do the trick.
He had received visits from Ecklie, who had investigated the shooting, and a shrink thatCavallo had sent especially for him. Grissom felt sick at the thought of talking to the man, and even worse when he learned that it wasthe lab director who had personally asked for this, but that feeling was at least partially dispelled when the counselor only required one visit. He was gone before his two hours were up, and Grissom gave himself a pat on the back. Maybe you should have been an actor, he thought darkly.
Now all he had to do was convince his team – and himself - that he was all right.
He was pulled out of his reverie suddenly as his office door came crashing open and Catherine stormed into the room. Grissom could see the rest of his team hovering anxiously around the doorway, watching.
"What the hell are you doing here, Gil?" Catherine snapped, slamming her fist down on his desk.
Grissom jumped, and then bit his tongue to stop from groaning as his ribs protested violently. "Work," he said tightly. "I'm doing my job."
"Your doctor said at least four weeks. It's only been three. And you look exhausted; have you been having problems sleeping?"
Inwardly, Grissom froze at her mention of his apparent exhaustion and he eyed her silently for a moment as he collected himself. Even when she was really pissed at him, she generally didn't rag on him in front of the rest of the team. This wasn't like her. But then, everything was different now, no matter what he wanted to believe.
"I've been cleared," he finally pointed out. He lifted his eyebrow at her as though he was slightly amused by the situation, instead of terrified that she was going to pursue the subject of his sleeping habits. He was also afraid that she would find some technicality that she could use to force him to go home.
There was no way he could tell her the real reason he was here – that he needed to be here. That if he wasn't here, distracting himself, he would go crazy listening to dead people screaming for his help.
"Don't you give me that look," she growled. "You are not..."
"I am, Catherine, whether you like it or not," he replied firmly, standing and making his way gingerly around the desk as he picked up the assignment slips.
She began to say something else, but he once again cut her off, and that was that.
"Warrick, Catherine," he said, feeling a sense of peace rush through him as he fell into the familiar routine. "You've got a DB out by Lake Mead. Nicky, Sara, B&E."
Nick sighed. "There isn't by any chance a dead body attached to that?"
Grissom smiled apologetically. "No, sorry." Then he glanced around the group. "Where's Greg?"
For a moment there was dead silence as the team just stared at him. "Will someone please answer the question?" Grissom spoke irritably. "I thought he was helping out while I was gone."
"Well you're here now," Catherine said. "When he heard, he got himself back to his lab quick."
Grissom gritted his teeth at her tone of voice, but let it slide with a terse "thanks," for the information. He wasn't ready to get into it with her yet.
When none of them moved, his frown deepened. "I'd really like to get some work done tonight," he snapped.
"Whatever, man," Warrick muttered, and he and Nick disappeared around the corner quickly. Catherine followed after, but the look in her eye told Grissom she knew what he was doing, and that she would deal with him later.
Greg did respect Grissom, but he also feared him on some level. If Grissom wanted to work with someone who wouldn't ask personal questions, Greg was the one to go with.
Finally, Grissom was left standing alone in his office with Sara. The room was thick with tension, and Sara shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans self-consciously. "You... all right?" she asked softly.
The surprise and pain in Grissom's eyes was obvious for a second, but then it disappeared, to be replaced with a sharp annoyance. "I'm fine," he said harshly, and Sara lowered her head and shrugged.
"All right," she murmured, before turning and striding out of the office.
For a long moment Grissom could only stand and stare after her. He'd screwed up again. With a groan, he set off to find Greg.
Greg was in his lab, just the way Catherine had said he would be, music playing loudly in the background, a magazine open in front of him.
Grissom turned off the music.
"Hey, damn you..." Greg trailed off when he saw who it was. "Oh, Grissom," he said nervously. "I didn't know it was you. Sorry, about that."
Grissom frowned at the sputtered apology. He had thought Greg would treat him the same as always, but now even he was acting weird. It irritated Grissom, and even made him angry on some level.
"Don't apologize, Greg," he snapped. "Just get a kit and meet me at my Tahoe in five minutes. You're driving."
As he made his way down the hall, he could hear Greg shouting in excitement behind him, and he couldn't help but smile a bit.
His small grin disappeared almost immediately, though, when he suddenly Greg's shouts were overshadowed by the sound of the robberyelling at the little boy to get on the floor. Grissom breathed in sharply at the sudden pain in his head. For a minute he sagged against the wall tiredly, hisface buried in his hand. Why did everything remind him of that? Why couldn't he just forget it all?
"Grissom?" It was Archie, looking worried.
Grissom gave the tech what he hoped was a friendly smile, and quickly dragged his aching body away from the wall. "Archie," he said.
"You all right?"
Grissom was about to give him an angry reply, but then he caught himself. Just relax, he thought. "Yeah, I'm fine, Archie," he said.
Archie looked at him doubtfully, and then turned and walked off.
Grissom gave a sigh and continued on his way to the parking lot.
"Greg!" Greg had just grabbed his kit and was about to follow Grissom over to his SUV when Catherine came rushing up, calling his name. "I thought I was going to miss you," the blonde panted, out of breath from her short run.
When she finally caught her breath, she put a hand on Greg's arm. "Watch him," she said softly, her eyes flickering over to where Grissom leaned against his vehicle, waiting. "The first sign of anything, hesitation, fear, pain. Get him out."
Greg gave an impatient sigh. "I know, Catherine," he said. "You've gone over this every night for the past three weeks. I know. I was there."
Catherine pulled back a bit, surprised, but she recovered quickly. "Sorry," she apologized, and it was Greg's turn to stare in surprise. Catherine gave a small smile. "I'm just worried about him. Something's not right."
"We're all worried about him," Greg replied, looking a bit embarrassed at the statement. Then he paused for a moment before continuing. "He thinks I don't know why he chose me to work with him."
Catherine gave him a questioning look, and Greg sighed impatiently. "Don't even bother, Catherine. You know. Nick and Warrick and Sara probably do too. He knows I'm the least likely to bother him about everything."
"He doesn't know, he thinks. Doesn't mean you have to go along with his beliefs."
Greg frowned. "You really expect me to try and talk to him?" Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Grissom's impatient expression, and sighed. "I better go."
"Good luck," Catherine said with a small smile. "And you know what I expect."
Greg just rolled his eyes, but Catherine could see in his worried glance as he walked away that he would try and do what needed to be done.
"What did Catherine want?"
Greg was slightly surprised when Grissom broke the heavy silence halfway to their crime scene, and he took a moment before answering.
"She just wanted to make sure I was ok," he lied easily. "We had a pretty bad case the other day. I kind of... I got a bit freaked out." He hoped his little story wouldn't make Grissom rethink taking him to scenes, and he made a mental note to call Catherine as soon as he could and make sure she knew the story.
"Oh," Grissom replied, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced, and Greg was relieved when he left it at that. He wouldn't have put it past Grissom to call Catherine and confirm the story.
The rest of the ride was spent in the same uncomfortable silence. When they reached the crime scene, Greg watched discreetly as Grissom slid stiffly out of the SUV, wincing as he stepped down onto the ground.
"You all right?" he asked quietly before he could stop himself, and he gave himself a mental kick when Grissom flashed him an annoyed glance.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
Greg shrugged, as though it was really of no concern to him. "All right."
They met Brass at the crime scene, and the homicide detective gave Grissom a long, appraising look before leading them up the steps of the house. "Showgirl," he said, "and the lucky man who got the back stage pass."
Grissom raised his eyebrow at the detective, and Brass shrugged. "Mr. Henderson, thirty, wife's out of town on business. I guess he thought he'd have a little fun while she was gone."
"I take it they're upstairs... in the bedroom?" Greg questioned with a small smirk.
"Wow, Greg," Brass said, pretending to be shocked, as he looked at the lab tech. "I didn't even see you there. I thought they never let you out of your cage."
"Has anyone been in yet?" Grissom cut in irritably as Greg gave Brass an evil glare.
Where normally Brass would have made a sarcastic, teasing comment, today he instead sobered instantly and showed them through the front door. "Just the neighbour who found them. On Fridays the vic usually played poker with the neighbour and a few other friends – this was the first time he'd ever blown them off before, so the neighbour came over to see if he was all right. Found the door wide open, and got worried. Went upstairs and found them."
Grissom frowned. "So our crime scene was compromised?" he interrupted.
"Yes, and no," Brass replied cryptically. "The killer was still there according to the neighbour, and they got into a bit of a scuffle. Sent the killer running off, but not before his face was seriously damaged."
"So the neighbour should have evidence on him, right?" Greg queried cautiously, glancing at Grissom.
Grissom nodded absently as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the bloody shoeprints on the floor as he motioned for Greg to hand him his camera. "Yeah. But we'll get to him later. Let's go check out the unlucky lovers. "
They made their way up the stairs slowly, Greg taking pictures of the trail of blood at Grissom's command. As they worked, Greg discreetly kept one of his eyes on Grissom at all times. It appeared that Grissom was fine, until they reached the bedroom.
It was the blood. God, there was so much blood. Soaked into the bed, and the carpet, and spattered across the walls. Just like the grocery store. And the woman's eyes. The girl's eyes were open, staring at him blankly, fear etched across her face. All he could remember was the way the woman had stared at him from the floor of the grocery store, her arms wrapped around her dead son, soaked in blood. All that blood.
Greg automatically reached out a hand to steady his supervisor as he swayed unsteadily. Grissom's face was pale, and drops of perspiration were breaking out on his forehead as he stared at the scene, but the instant Greg touched him he seemed to realize where he was, and he jerked away. The fear on his face was masked with a sudden, fierce anger.
"Start taking pictures," he snapped, turning away from Greg.
Say something, Greg told himself. Catherine's words rang in his head. The first sign of anything, hesitation, fear, pain. Get him out. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he only nodded as he obeyed automatically.
Damn it! Grissom swore at himself angrily as he stood perfectly still in the doorway. You almost lost it. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened, but opened them just as quickly again; the insides of his lids were coated with the red blood of the victims. His eyes flicked all over the room, searching for an avenue of retreat, but there was none. There was blood everywhere; there was no escaping it.
Sara's words from so long ago suddenly rang in his ears. I wish I were like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything.
Don't feel anything, he told himself. They aren't people. They were never people.
He repeated the words to himself over and over again until they were burned into his brain, and he had just fixed his emotionless mask in place when David arrived.
"Hello, sir," David said nervously upon seeing Grissom. "How are you?"
"Just take a look at the bodies, David," Grissom said sharply, feeling a cold, heavy weight settle on his chest as he spoke. He ignored the surprised and hurt look David gave him, and the worried glance Greg shot towards him. "We need to get to work."
When David was finished with the bodies, Grissom took a hesitant step towards them, and then halted. Greg watched as fear and uncertainty played across his supervisor's face, and he racked his brain for a way to help without appearing to.
"Hey, Grissom?" he finally said, fixing a pleading look on his face when Grissom turned to look at him. "Can I do it?" he said. "I promise I'll do everything right."
For a minute Grissom stared at Greg, his brain processing the request, and suddenly he knew what Catherine had been saying to Greg.
Greg winced involuntarily as he saw the anger appear once again in Grissom's eyes.
"Damn it, Greg," Grissom snapped, but just as suddenly as the anger had come it was gone, and all he felt was an extreme exhaustion. It settled into his bones like a leaden blanket, to go with the other cold weight he carried.
If he does it, you don't have to deal with it. Grissom sighed, and glanced at the door. Brass had appeared there a moment before; when he saw Grissom's eyes turn towards him, the police captain immediately switched his gaze to the bodies on the bed. Grissom sighed again, and swung his gaze back to Greg, who was looking like a kicked puppy. "Fine," he finally said hoarsely. "Fine."
He couldn't quite tell if the look in Greg's eyes was relief, or worry. He didn't know if he wanted to.
Later, when they had finished the evidence collection and interviewing the neighbour, Grissom made his way back to the Tahoe, Greg trailing uncertainly behind. He could tell that Grissom was exhausted, and he could even pinpoint the exact moment it had happened; when Grissom had realized that Greg was trying to take care of him.
Why was it so awful for someone to try and help him? Greg wondered. Why did he have to try and do everything alone?
Greg couldn't come up with any answers, and he thought that even if Grissom wanted to tell him, he wouldn't be able to either.
Grissom got into the passenger side of the vehicle, moving even slower than he had all evening, bracing his arm against the door as he lowered himself gingerly onto the seat. Greg was smart enough not to ask if he had any pills for the pain; he figured that would be the last straw tonight, and he wasn't about to take a chance so he started up the SUV and pulled out onto the road without comment.
Grissom was silent as they drove. Every few minutes Greg would shoot a surreptitious glance at his supervisor, taking in the slouched posture, the pain that lined his face despite his best efforts to hide it.
It wasn't long before Grissom's eyelids drooped shut, and for a moment he wanted to just let go and sleep; but then suddenly a scream pierced the calming blackness that enveloped him, and the black turned to red. His eyes snapped open instantly in terror and he sat straight up, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest as he gasped for breath. He had bit his tongue on accident, and now the cloying, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to get rid of it.
"Grissom?" Greg turned in surprise at Grissom's sharp intake of breath. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," Grissom wheezed out as he slumped back in the seat. Greg could hear the pain in his voice. "I'm all right."
"Grissom," Greg persisted, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Grissom snapped, having caught his breath. "I'm fine."
"But..."
"I'm fine."
Greg heard the pain once again, and an underlying current of fear.
What was Grissom afraid of? But he didn't pursue it; he only frowned in frustration and kept his eyes straight ahead for the rest of the drive. Catherine would have to deal with Grissom on her own.
