Precious Things by SLynn
Spoilers: Up to 'Nesting Dolls'
Rating: R for violence and disturbing content.
Disclaimer: Not mine – well, some are mine, just not the ones you recognize.
Notes: Thanks again tripp3235! And it really does look like this one is ending soon... probably another 4-6 chapters. Thanks for reading. Hope you're all still there by the end of this!
You came to make sure that I'm not running
Well I ran from him in all kinds of ways
Guess it was his turn this time
'Baker, Baker' by Tori Amos
Chapter 26: Running
Sara and Nick had gotten back not twenty minutes after Greg had left. Amy, feeling really stuck, didn't know what to say.
She had to give them the results but had promised to wait on Greg before giving them the details. She had to tell them he was gone, but couldn't give them a straight answer as to why. Amy had seen right through Greg's 'allergy' problem but didn't know what was really wrong with him. She'd noticed he was down tonight but had nothing to explain it.
Steeling herself as they both came into the lab, Amy was still at a loss of exactly what to say.
"Hi," Nick said smiling at her, "we've got more for you. Blood and hair for our latest homicide but it's pretty cut and dry. How're the hair samples coming?"
"Good," Amy said trying to match his smile, moving determinedly to where she'd filed the results, "The cat hairs matched."
"Well that's something," Nick said as she handed them to him. "We might be able to get a warrant with that."
"Greg found some more hair in the other bags and asked me to run it. That matched the skin found under Cynthia Haas skin and the semen taken from Ann Bosworth… Blanchard… the cat lady."
Nick stopped reading and looked up at her again with a different smile and she felt caught. He knew she was nervous, just not why.
"Anything else?" Sara asked, sensing her unease as well.
"It's all in the reports," Amy said with a shrug, hating herself but at least not lying.
They'd read them and draw their own conclusions just hopefully not before Greg had talked with them. She was starting to think his 'sick act' was a result of his conversation with Grissom.
"Great," Nick said with a nod, "we can get a warrant easy with that. Proves the suspect was in her house. Maybe she's abetting. Where's Greg? We can call Sullivan and do this first thing in the morning."
"He's not… he went home," Amy stammered.
"Why?" Sara asked and Amy thought she saw a flicker of panic behind her eyes, quickly gone.
"Allergies," Amy answered, "He said allergies."
"Said?" Nick asked and Amy, not for the first time, really hated that she worked with training investigators.
"Yes, said. He said his allergies were really bothering him and that he was just going to go home."
Sara sucked in her bottom lip, still looking at Amy like she might be able to pull the truth right out of her head. Amy didn't mind so much, she'd probably have done the same. And really, that was what Greg had said. There wasn't much more that she could tell them.
"I'm calling Greg," Sara said as she walked out of the room.
She pulled up her contacts on her cell phone and began to scroll down the list. It took her longer to find it then it should have and honestly she could have dialed it quicker but habit prevailed. Greg had an endearing habit of changing the names on her list. Usually he only changed his own, knowing the others were probably more critical and that she didn't need to be deciphering his nonsense at crucial moments. He also changed her ring tone randomly whenever he got his hands on her phone long enough. Greg only did it when he was bored and feeling playful and it always made her laugh.
She looked in the G's and the S's and still no 'Greg Sanders Cell' to be found.
Growing frustrated as she steered into the break room, she just started going through the entire list. Finally stopping at the 'That Man I Sleep With' entry, a small smile on her lips, she pressed the call button. After five rings she gave up and again out of habit scrolled to the H's only to find 'Home Phone' missing. Sighing and rubbing her head, she looked back through the list. Apparently home really was 'Where the Heart Is' and Greg's insomnia must be worse then she thought. Pressing the call button again she was frustrated once more when there was no answer. Again she tried his cell only to have it immediately go to voice mail so he'd either shut it off, the battery died or he was trying to call her.
Shaking her head in frustration Sara looked up in time to see Nick at the door.
"Get a hold of him?" he asked from the doorway.
Sara shook her head and checked her watch. It was late now, nearly morning. Just after four.
"I just got off the line with Charlie. Brass doesn't want to wait, they're getting the warrant from Judge Taylor now. You want to go?"
Sara debated it for a moment in her head. If Greg was okay to drive home, and she trusted Amy wouldn't have let him if he wasn't, it was probably nothing serious. Yes, she had wanted to talk out their problems tonight but that could wait till the morning. And this case was important. The job was important. Another few hours wouldn't hurt. He was probably just sleeping and that was what he needed most.
"Ready when you are," she said having decided.
Sara got home around ten that morning.
Searching Anne Blanchard's house had been fairly fruitless. Aside from a carpet sample that looked like it would match the fibers found on the victim, there was nothing else. No physical evidence, no weepy confession, no murderous brother.
And yes, they all knew now it was her brother.
Grissom had accompanied them to the scene and told them on the way. Told them that the investigator three years ago assigned to the case had failed to ask for comparison test of the victim to the suspect. Amy had last night and found the connection. Nick and Sara both wondered why she hadn't told them that herself, but were glad to have something more to go on. Grissom saw no reason to mention Greg's involvement.
Sara pulled her own car up next to Greg's in the drive and made her way to the door. She saw, as usual, Betty's curtain flutter from across the street, and as usual ignored it as she let herself in.
Glad to see Greg hadn't crashed on the couch again, she put down her keys and went to the kitchen to get herself a glass of juice. As she did she got the first inclination that something was wrong.
In the living room, directly across from where she stood now, there was something on the floor in pieces.
Sara set down her glass and walked over to it, bent down, recognized it immediately, and stood back up again really worried.
"Greg?" she called out loudly, making her way quickly to the back room.
She was shocked to find it empty. Empty and untouched. Greg never made the bed, she always did. It was still made so he'd never slept in it that night. But that wasn't the only thing out of place. A few dresser drawers lay open, the closet was open and a hanger or two lay on the floor. His sneakers were missing.
Sara went to the bathroom and saw it much the same, in disarray. The medicine cabinet stood open, his prescriptions gone. His toothbrush. His razor. Even his hair gel.
Sara was confused and immediately thought the worse.
The only thing she could believe was that there had been some type of emergency. Maybe someone in his family had died, but that didn't make sense. He would have called her. He would have said something to someone. Greg wouldn't have made up some stupid excuse about his allergies.
Sara paced the room, not sure what to do.
'His car,' she thought suddenly.
She'd parked right next to it. His car was still in the drive. What could that mean?
Her frantic thoughts were cut short by the sound of a key in the front door.
Sara rushed down the hall just as Greg opened the door looking rumbled and in the clothes he'd worn last night.
She didn't question him, not yet. Instead she just threw her arms around his neck, so relieved to see him. She didn't even notice his failure to respond. His own hands still at his waist clenched in an effort not to act. Greg wasn't sure what to do. Part of him wanted to hug her back and another part wanted to push her away.
"Where were you?" Sara asked as she moved back, hands still touching him. One hand on his shoulder as if to cement him in place as the other hand ran up and down his arm.
Greg let out a shaky breath and moved away towards the kitchen.
"Greg?" Sara questioned all her earlier concern back.
"I just needed to get out of here for awhile," he finally said.
"Where were you?" she continued to question, moving into the kitchen after him.
"Betty's," he answered, looking down into the sink. Just anywhere but at her.
"But your things…"
"Are in my car."
"What's wrong?" Sara asked now, feeling close to tears. This wasn't like him. It wasn't like him at all. He seemed to have shut down and was being evasive and just so distant. "What…"
Greg leaned down to the sink now, both hands planted firmly on the counter as he let out what sounded like a laugh. A strangled laugh. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he squeezed his hands so tight gripping the counter that they stung.
"No," he said letting go and turning to her almost at once. Shaking his head as he spoke. "No. You don't get to ask me that."
Sara didn't know what was happening. Greg had gone from flat and stoic to clearly angry, madder then she'd ever seen him, just like that. Involuntarily taking a step back she didn't ask again. Instead she waited for what she knew was the storm coming.
"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked, not coming any closer but lowering his voice once more.
"I don't know…"
"The suspension," he cut her off. "Were you going to tell me? If I hadn't just by accident found out, would you have?"
"Greg it wasn't that big of a deal," she answered, almost feeling relief. This she could handle. Greg let things stir inside him at times until they boiled over, they could talk this out she was sure. "I just didn't think of it. Really."
"Really?" he asked back and by his tone she knew that this wasn't just it.
"Yes. I mouthed off to Catherine in front of Ecklie while we were working a case. You were sick, in the hospital, I was overworked and I shouldn't have done it."
"Why'd they put you in therapy then?"
Sara shut her eyes tightly and shook her head.
"Who told you that?"
"Grissom."
"He had no right…"
"He thought I knew," Greg returned tightly. "And why wouldn't he? We're engaged. I should have known. You should have told me."
"Do I have to remind you that you spent eight months in therapy on medication before you told me?"
"It's not the same."
"Why is that?" she asked back, her own temper flaring at his hypocriticalness.
"Because I didn't tell anyone."
"And your mad what?" she asked, her voice much louder then normal, "Because I told Grissom? Greg, he's my supervisor. My boss. I had to tell him. He's the one that made me go."
"Yeah," Greg shot back, "he is your boss."
Sara narrowed her eyes at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means whatever you take it to mean."
"No. That's not an answer."
"Why did you tell him?" Greg asked instead.
"I told you, he's the one that sent me there. It wasn't as if…"
"Not that, the nightmares. Why'd you tell him about the nightmares?"
Sara blinked several times, caught completely off guard.
"You did, didn't you?"
"You don't understand…"
"No I don't. Because you've never given me a chance too."
Greg stopped and turned away.
"It's not like you think it is."
"Really?" he asked harshly, turning back to her in one swift motion, "Really? Because I think that I wake up beside you practically every day to you crying or screaming and your boss knows more about it then I do. Why is that?"
Sara looked away, catching a few tears that slid down her face.
"I can't do this now."
"Fine," he said moving out of the room towards the front door. "Let me know when you're ready to let me in on your life."
"Greg," she called out surprised at the unevenness.
It was enough to stop him but he didn't turn back around.
"Where are you going?"
Greg took in a deep breath and dropped his head.
"I don't know," he said quietly and truthfully.
"Are you coming back?"
"I don't know," he echoed before reaching out and opening the door.
Sara didn't ask any more just watched as he walked out. Partially in shock. Completely in denial.
Greg felt the same as he hurried down the porch steps and towards his car. Sitting behind the wheel he paused because he really didn't know where or what he was going to do next.
Both of them were left thinking the same thing.
'How did it come to this?'
