Chapter 3: Shadows
"Greg!"
Greg turned in surprise as Catherine touched his shoulder and called his name.
"Yes?" he questioned as he picked up the printout for the DNA sample he and Grissom had taken from the neighbour's knuckles. "What can I do for you?"
Catherine raised her eyebrow at him. It had been half an hour since he and Grissom had returned from their crime scene, and Greg had been hoping she wouldn't show up for at least another hour.
Greg avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the printout.
With an impatient sigh, Catherine snatched the paper from his hand. "Greg," she said, "You know what I want. How was he?"
It was Greg's turn to sigh. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Can't you just ask him?" he muttered. "Maybe if you just asked him instead of always going behind his back and using the rest of us as spies you'd actually get more information."
Catherine stared at him disbelievingly. "Don't be stupid, Greg," she snapped. "Just answer the question."
Grabbing back his printout, Greg turned away again and began working on the next blood sample. "There was a lot of blood at the crime scene," he stated neutrally. "He got really freaked out when he saw it."
There was a long moment of silence; Greg finally turned to see why Catherine wasn't saying anything, and he groaned when he saw that she was looking at Nick and Sara, who had just walked in. Just in time to hear what he had said.
"What do you mean he by 'freaked out?'" Sara said softly, completely still except for the slight trembling of her hands.
Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but Greg cut her off. They were all friends with Grissom; they all cared about him. If Catherine was going to have all the facts, the rest of them should be in the loop as well.
"He got really pale, and he started sweating. He was swaying, like he was going to pass out."
"Why didn't you get him out?" Catherine snapped. "I told you to take care of him. I told you if anything like that happened to get him out of there."
Greg turned on her, his not-often seen temper flaring at her accusatory tone. "I was going to! I reached out to steady him, and when I touched him he snapped out of it and jerked away. He was angry, Catherine. What was I supposed to do? He's my supervisor, but more importantly he's Grissom. You don't tell Grissom what to do. You don't take care of Grissom; he takes care of himself. And us. God damn it, how do you think he feels? I could see the fearin his eyes, Catherine. He was afraid, and I was afraid because he's never afraid. And you know what? I think he was afraid for the same reason I was. And I think he's afraid because he's not in control anymore, because he can't stop himself from feeling these emotions anymore. I..."
Nick broke in then, placing a calming hand on Greg's shoulder and stepping between the lab tech and the fuming Catherine. "Take it easy, man," he soothed. "You did everything you could. It's all right, Greg."
"Whatever," Greg muttered, pulling away and turning back to his desk. He could hear Nick and Sara in the background, talking to Catherine. Who cares, he thought darkly to himself. He wanted to turn on his music, but for once he thought about Grissom before he did.
When they had arrived back at the lab, Greg could tell that his supervisor was nursing a headache and a foul mood. His words of parting had been curt and to the point. "I want DNA profiles for those blood samples on my desk before the end of shift."
So Greg continued to work in silence, the only sounds to be heard those of the softly whirring machines in his lab.
When Catherine stormed out of Greg's lab, the only thought in her mind was to find Grissom and confront him. Nick and Sara foiled her plan, however, when they cornered her in the break room.
"You can't just go up to him and start yelling," Nick said, frowning at her.
"He's been through a lot," Sara pointed out. "He doesn't need you ragging on him."
Catherine glowered back at them, her face reddening. "Yes, Sara, he's been through a lot, and that's the whole point," she retorted. "Grissom doesn't allow himself to feel anything. He pushes important emotions away and buries them until they grow and get out of control and tear him apart from the inside out. All because of fear."
Nick and Sara exchanged glances at her words, the worry in their guts turning to their own brand of fear. They knew Catherine was right, ultimately. Despite the things they had all said to Grissom over the years, they knew deep down that it wasn't that he couldn't feel anything; it was that he wouldn't feel anything.
He was afraid. Afraid of being known – afraid of being understood and then rejected. Maybe afraid that whatever secrets he kept would be discovered.
Only he and God knew, but it was the reason for his lack of a personal life; the reason he kept them all at a distance. Despite his often-friendly personality, there was always that wall there, which stopped them from getting to know him. It was the reason he had refused to tell Warrick and Sara how he had learned sign language all those years ago; the reason he had withdrawn from Sara's flirtatious behaviour. It was the reason he never volunteered personal information when the team went out for breakfast, and they had long discussions about old friends, and growing up.
"You know I'm right," Catherine said softly, her eyes still hard. "He's afraid of the emotions he feels."
Suddenly, she seemed to deflate, and she sat down hard on the break room couch. With a tired groan, she ran her hand over her face. "We shouldn't be discussing this - or pursuing it. We don't have any of the facts."
Sara glanced at Nick and shrugged before sitting down next to Catherine. "Nobody has all the facts when it comes to Grissom," she said, attempting a smile.
Catherine gave a small chuckle at that. "As Lindsey would say, he's definitely an anomaly."
The group looked up as Warrick's voice rang through the quiet of the break room, confused. "Lindsey would say what? About who?"
Catherine laughed out loud at the expression on his face. "Anomaly. It was a vocab word she had to learn," she explained. "She uses it every chance she gets. I was just saying that..."
"Wait," Warrick interrupted, heading over towards the coffee pot, "don't tell me. Grissom."
Nick chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, man, how'd you know?"
Warrick shrugged and flashed Catherine a grin. "Hey, I'm a smart guy. I just know these things."
The tension that had previously filled the room dissipated, and for the moment all thoughts of Grissom and the events of the previous month vanished.
When Grissom and Greg had returned to the lab, Grissom had immediately retreated to his office, both his ribs and his head aching. He was pissed with himself for almost losing it, and pissed at Catherine for making sure he had a baby-sitter. But then, turned out you needed one, didn't it? he thought bitterly as he stared at the piles of paperwork that sat on his desk.
"Might as well get started," he muttered quietly to himself then, thinking that while it wasn't the best job in the world, at least it would keep his mind occupied while he waited for the results from Greg.
An hour later, Grissom had made a considerable dent in the paperwork, and was desperately in need of some coffee. Signing one last case review, he stood and made his way to the break room, slowly, taking care not to bump his ribs.
When he got there, he found Catherine, Nick, Sara, and Warrick already there, seated around the table. They were laughing about something, and Grissom couldn't help but smile himself. His smile disappeared, however, when he entered the room and it suddenly became quiet.
God damn it, he screamed silently, training his face into an emotionless mask as an almost physical pain coursed through his body.
"Hey, Grissom," Catherine greeted him, smiling. Grissom merely studied her silently; the smile was too forced.
"Hey," he finally replied, moving towards the coffee machine.
"Sit down, Gris," Nick broke in, getting to his feet quickly. "I can get you some. Greg made some of his good stuff for you. He..."
"I can get my own coffee, Nick," Grissom said through clenched teeth, feeling an inexplicable anger fill him. "Greg didn't need to get out his stash just for me. I won't die if I drink the regular stuff."
"Gris," Catherine began, seeing Nick's hurt expression, but Grissom cut her off.
"I don't want special treatment," he snapped. "I'm not a cripple, and I'm not crazy."
"Grissom!" Catherine finally broke in, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back out of the room.
"He's just messed up right now, Nick," Warrick reassured Nick quietly as they watched Catherine drag Grissom out of the room.
Sara patted his shoulder; her eyes were worried for Grissom, yet upset at the same time for what he had said to Nick. "It's not your fault."
Nick shrugged, but they could still see the embarrassment and pain on his face. Then they all turned to stare out the window as Catherine lit into Grissom.
"What the hell was that?" she snapped.
Grissom glared at her, and shoved her hand off his shoulder. From where they were sitting, the team could see that he was trembling. "I don't want special treatment, Catherine," he snarled.
"So you decided to freak out at Nick?" Catherine replied angrily. "He didn't do anything. He just wanted to help!"
"And that's exactly what I don't need! Help! So lay off with the interference!"
Catherine stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she sputtered.
"Give me a break, Catherine, you think I'm that stupid?" he snapped harshly. "I know what you told Greg before we left for the crime scene. 'Take care of the psycho. If he goes nuts, tie him down and call me.'"
"Jesus Christ, Gil, you are really something," Catherine said, her face dark. "I asked him to watch out for you because I care about you. The whole team cares about you, Gil, whether you like it or not."
"And I appreciate that," Grissom snapped, "but caring isn't the same as being scared I'm going to snap."
For a long moment they just stood there, staring at each other, Grissom's chest heaving painfully and his hands trembling.
Catherine was the one who finally broke the silence, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Grissom," she said, letting out her breath in a sigh, "let's just... let's just forget about this, and we can go out and get you something to eat, and then I'll drop you off at home and you can take a nap. You can come back next shift."
Grissom jerked away from her hand, his face angry again. "See, that's what I mean. You're acting like my mother. If I'm hungry, I'll eat. If I'm tired, I'll go home and get some sleep. But I'm not hungry, and I'm not tired, so I'll stay here and work on my case. I..."
"Grissom," Catherine retorted, losing her patience, "you've lost weight since I last saw you, and you look exhausted. Greg says you could barely keep yourself together at that crime scene, and you wouldn't even allow yourself to sleep in the car. He said you were scared of something. Grissom, what the hell is going on with you? Yes, you've been through a lot, and yes, you're not the greatest at expressing emotion, but for God's sake we're your friends. Why won't you let us help you?"
"Because I don't need your help!" Grissom yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that half the lab could hear him. "I don't want your help! Why can't you just figure it out? How many times do I need to say it? Leave me alone!"
With that, he spun around and stormed off down the hall, leaving Catherine staring after him, her mouth open in shock.
"Aren't you going to go after him?" Sara said worriedly when Catherine returned to the break room.
Catherine shook her head tiredly and finished her own cup of coffee. "No. He needs some time to cool off."
For a long moment there was a tense, uncomfortable silence in the room. Then Nick spoke. "I didn't mean to bug him so much. I just..."
"Hey, Nicky," Catherine broke in, her voice firm, "it wasn't your fault. All you did was offer to get him some coffee. He never should have reacted that way."
Grissom lay on his back on the roof of the lab in the darkness of the Vegas night. His eyes were turned towards the night sky, though there were no stars to be seen. He often came up here when he needed some peace and quiet, but this time was different. This time he was hiding – from the world, from himself. Normally he would just stand and stare out over the city. Now he lay prone on the rooftop, the anger giving way to a pulsing, living pain that filled the hollow space in his chest and threatened to overwhelm him. It overshadowed the physical pain of his injured ribs, and the pounding in his temple that signified the beginnings of his 'migraine of the day,' as he had bitterly taken to calling them.
He thought about getting up to get some of his migraine medicine to at least dull some of the pain, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to move. His body felt hot, and then cold, like he had an awful fever. Maybe you do have a fever, he thought numbly. Maybe you're just hallucinating all this. But he knew it wasn't true, and suddenly all he could think of was how he had freaked out at Nick for no good reason.
But you did have a reason, he assured himself, pushing away the thought that he was trying to rationalize something that couldn't be rationalized. It wasn't like he was getting the Goddamn coffee because he was in a kind mood. He felt sorry for you. Grissom grimaced at the thought. Everyone feels sorry for you, he thought. Everyone feels sorry for you, when they should be feeling sorry for that dead man and woman, and her dead son. They should feel sorry for them, and hate you. Because you let them die. You might as well have killed them, for all the good you did them. You let them die.
"No," Grissom breathed raggedly, his voice hoarse as the word caught in his throat, and he felt hot tears burning his eyes. But he couldn't shake the thoughts from his head, and the pain in his chest seemed to increase. You let them die. You let them die. You let them die. You...
It was Doc Robbins who saved him, unwittingly. When Grissom's pager went off, the pain that ripped through his skull broke his line of thought, letting him focus on something else as he quickly glanced at the message.
Bodies ready, it fairly screamed at him, and Grissom let out a trembling sigh of relief as the pain in his chest decreased. "Thank you, God," he whispered, for the first in his life thankful for the pounding against his forehead. It was real, something that had been part of him since he was a child, not some phantom pain that was like a ghost, always there yet not always felt, lurking in the background, in the shadows, until it suddenly came rushing forward to make itself known and as real as anything when you least expected it. The memories and thoughts of the robbery were the same; hiding in the shadows until you least wanted them. It was always what was in the shadows that got you.
"Hey, Gil," Doc Robbins greeted him as Grissom stepped into the morgue, squinting against the bright lights. Robbins frowned at the scientist's obvious discomfort, but didn't say anything. He had already heard about Grissom's angry outbreak in the break room, and didn't want to agitate his friend any more than he already was.
"Al," Grissom returned curtly, reinforcing Robbins' resolve not to comment.
"Ok, ladies first," the coroner said, leading the way over to one of his tables and pulling back the sheet from the woman's face. "Kathleen Marley, twenty-five. Multiple stab wounds to the chest. COD was..." He trailed off suddenly as Grissom suddenly pulled away from the body, his face draining of colour. "Gil?" he questioned, unable to hide the worry in his voice.
Grissom didn't hear the coroner's concerned query; he was too busy trying to fight back the waves of nausea that were running through him. Just breathe, he thought, gritting his teeth and turning away from the body. There wasn't even that much of a smell; he had been around worse than this before.
But apparently it didn't matter how much it smelled, or didn't, because one instant Grissom thought he had it under control, and the next his chest heaved painfully as he violently emptied his stomach's contents into the sink next to the coroner's table.
He stood, doubled over the sink even after he had finished throwing up, feeling pain rip through not only his head but also his chest and side. His throat burned, and lights exploded in his eyes as suddenly his knees gave out beneath him and he slid to the floor, unaware of the hands grabbing at him, trying to hold him up. He welcomed the blackness that slid across his vision then, taking away the pain and leaving him hovering in a suspended darkness.
"Gil! Gil!" Robbins thought his heart was going to stop when Grissom's body suddenly folded beneath him and he slid to the floor, unconscious. It was all so unexpected.
Within minutes, however, the coroner was in control of the situation. He gently slid Grissom's body down onto the floor so he was on his side in the recovery position, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to allow him to breath easier.
"God help me, Gil, you always have to push yourself too hard," Robbins muttered under his breath as he pulled himself upright again. He cursed everything from Grissom to his prosthetic legs and his crutch as he made his way to the phone, keeping one eye trained on the unconscious scientist that lay on the floor. "You're going to get yourself killed one of these days."
