Chapter Five: Denial
Greg was furious. No, he was beyond furious. All he could do was stare down at the small piece of paper he held in his hands. Printed in black ink read 'transferred from account 3275864321 by owner: 150,000'.
Greg rubbed his forehead, resisting the urge to crumble the receipt in his hand as the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the work place. Greg paid the driver as he exited, shoving the paper in his pocket as he made his way inside.
He wanted to see Grissom right away, but he knew that wasn't the best of ideas. He was too angry right now, he would have to wait until he calmed down some. Donning his lab coat, Greg got busy on catching the DNA lab up for that night. It only took about an hour to get all the samples running, but it would take several for them to finish.
Needing more time to cool down, Greg busied himself with papers again, piecing it back together, little by little. He smiled doughtily as he placed the last piece of the paper for the title.
"Marionette Soldier Incantation," he read the full title, resting his chin on his hand. It still didn't make a lot of sense, but it was a start. He pulled his pager out, sending Nick a quick memo before going back to work.
By the time Nick arrived, Greg had also come up with a time and place. "Marionette Soldier Incantation, Friday, March 7th," Nick mused, sitting down next to him. "At the Rio," he nodded shortly.
"How does this tell us anything though?" Greg wondered, reading the words over again.
"We found this shredded in one of our suspects' houses. Brand new shredder, bought about a week ago. It could mean nothing, but most people by a shredder to get rid of a lot of paper. In this case, this was the only one that had been shredded."
Greg nodded, leaning back. "I don't know how much more of this we have left," he commented, indicating to the pile of shreds.
"Keep working on it," Nick patted him on the shoulder as he walked out. "Good work, by the way," he added before leaving.
Greg nodded, putting the stuff away for now. He needed a break. On his way out, he happened to see Grissom pass by into his office. Greg knew that if he was going to talk with him at all, now was the time. He didn't wait for an invitation, just merely went in, shutting the door behind him. Grissom glanced up at him, then back down at his papers he held in his hands. His boss didn't seem surprised to see him there.
Greg dug the paper out of his pocket, tossing it on the desk as he sat down. "What is this?" he asked calmly.
When Grissom didn't answer, Greg continued, "I can't accept that Grissom. I said some money, besides that, you promised."
"I promised I wouldn't give you seventy thousand dollars."
Greg was taken aback. "You knew what I meant. This is unfair, you can't do this to me."
Grissom sat down with a sigh, looking up at him. "To you? I'm doing it for you Greg. You need the money. If you think I'm going to sit here and watch you die, then you need help, and I'm not talking physically."
"I know you're trying to help, but this is too much, way too much. I'll never be able to pay you back."
"You can pay me back slowly, how does 12 dollars a month sound?"
Greg shook his head. "Grissom, this isn't funny," Greg argued. That got his attention.
Grissom put the papers down, actually slamming them. "Do you think I'm laughing Greg? You are too young to be going through this, you have a future to think about."
"And what about your future?" Greg asked, "How the hell did you come up with 100,000 dollars anyway?"
"I have my sources, my connections, and my own life savings too Greg."
The young lab tech shook his head, "I can't let you give me your life savings. You should be saving that for something important."
Grissom watched him for a long moment. "So are you telling me that your life isn't important? Last time I checked, a life was the most valuable thing there was in this world. But I could be wrong, after all, it is only an opinion."
Greg clasped his hands, burying his face into them. "You have no idea…how hard, this is for me," he said quietly.
Grissom agreed quietly. "No, I don't. And I hope I never do. You don't deserve this, no one does. But don't make it harder on yourself than it is already."
Greg looked up at him, over his entwined fingers, at a loss for words. Instead he just nodded.
"Good, now, either you get back to work, or go home and rest. Your choice."
Greg nodded again as he left the office. Things hadn't gone as he had wanted. His original plans were to yell and scream at his boss until the man finally agreed to take the money back. Not that he was sorry he was on an organ receiving list now, he just felt that he was in a very unfair situation. Letting out a sigh he made his way to the break room, nodding to Warrick who was eating at the table.
Greg poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a long sip as he leaned against the counter, trying to think things over. It took him only a moment to realize the mistake he had made, as his stomach protested. The next moment found himself over the sink, the back of his wrist pressed against his mouth, trying to will his body not to get sick again, with little luck.
He could feel Warrick's hands on his shoulders, supporting him his stomach lurched again. Greg quickly wiped his mouth and eyes, shaking Warrick off gently. "Sorry," he sputtered weakly as Warrick led him over to the couch, sitting him down.
"It's okay, take it easy man," Warrick told him softly, still holding him by the shoulders. Greg was warm, warmer than normal he noted. The young lab tech's episode had been violent and unexpected. Warrick knelt down in front of him, watching him. Greg was avoiding his gaze, trembling slightly as Warrick felt his forehead.
"You're running a fever," he commented, "you shouldn't have come in tonight."
Greg waved him off, holding his stomach as he leaned forward. "I'm fine, must be something wrong with the coffee," he said quietly.
Warrick frowned as Greg coughed a few times, closing his eyes as he tried to slow his heavy breathing. "Stay here," he told him, "I'll be right back."
Catherine had passed by the break room; Warrick caught her just a little ways down. "Hey Cath?"
She turned, waiting for him to catch up. "What's up?"
"How do you feel about cleaning up a mess?"
Catherine watched him for a moment, "What kind of mess?"
Greg just got sick in the break room, he's running a fever so I was going to take him home. That, or you can run him home and I'll clean. One way or the other, I can't do both."
Catherine nodded as she followed Warrick back into the break room, frowning when she saw Greg. The young tech was holding his stomach, bent over his knees and staring at the floor. She sat next to him as Warrick started cleaning up.
"Not feeling good huh?" she teased lightly, rubbing his upper back.
Greg swallowed, seeing that there really wasn't an alternative now. "Yeah, I guess not."
"Come on, let's get you home," she told him, offering a hand.
Greg waved her off, standing slowly. "I can just catch a taxi," he told her, "It'll be much easier."
"On who?" Catherine laughed, "your stomach or the taxi driver? It's no big deal, go get your stuff."
Greg nodded dully, allowing Catherine to lead him back to the lockers, then out to her car. The ride to his place was quiet, neither of them spoke. This time though, Catherine walked him up to his place.
"Nice place," she commented, her first being in here.
Greg nodded as he sat down on the couch, "Thanks, for the ride home I mean."
Catherine smiled, "Like I said, not a problem. Is there anything else you need?"
Greg shook his head, "No, I'm okay."
"You sure? I don't mind," she offered.
Greg nodded, leaning back on the couch, swinging his legs up. "Yeah, if I need anything I can always call Joni," he pointed towards the ceiling, indicating the apartments upstairs. "She owes me a few favors," he grinned.
Catherine laughed, "Okay then, if you're sure. Give me a call if you change your mind."
Greg watched her leave before closing his eyes with a long sigh. He wouldn't be able to keep this charade up for much longer. It had been several days since he had been able to keep anything down, and even longer since he had actually slept. The doctors had upped his vitamins, and encouraged him to drink more fluids. He had been dehydrated on his last visit. They had given him fluids through injection, keeping him there longer than planned. The constant visits were an irritation to him, but his doctor was persistent. She was worried about the possibility of an acute liver failure, which would result in death within 48 hours if it did take place. So he went in every other day, for roughly an hour.
Theses were the last thoughts that ran through his mind as he feel into a deep slumber, unaware of the time that passed by.
TBC
