Title: Maybe, Possibly- Truly

Author: frickangel

Site: trinity (dot) hybridshadows (dot) com

Summary: To be afraid of something yet find comfort in arms of the one you love. Greg faces a tough moment in his life and surprises himself by discovering who he really needed.GregSara.

Spoilers: Other than the fact that Greg becomes a full fledge CSI? Heh, but you already knew that :)

A/N: Just a short fic. Wanted to hurt Greg and love him at the same time ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

Chapter II

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Where was he?

It had taken a while for her to find a legal spot to park. Hospitals were an everyday thing in her life.

Wake up, go to work, collect case, work crime scene, visit doctor, collect medical report, and solve case.

So maybe it wasn't as straight forward as that, but hospital visits for her were usually just to obtain some report on the deceased or nearly dying.

Today was much different.

For today, she was searching for one who shouldn't be dying. He shouldn't even be here.

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"We're working on it." Sara informed him. Well at least Greg was, she had attempted to help him. Sort of.

'Just wanted to know if you guys need any help.'

"Thanks, but we're doing fine, Nick." She noted only one of the officers remained at the scene and Sara wondered if it was against procedure to leave the scene, even if it was for a potty break. "Going slow on swing shift?"

'Yeah, nothing much going on. Just a couple of small time robberies. The thieves left enough of them behind that they might as well have a neon sign tied to their backs with the words "I Did It".'

The phone crackled softly, really bad reception going on. "Not unless you want to swim in trash you're welcome to drop by."

There was a pause on Nick's side and she couldn't help but break a smile.

'I'll let you know when I'm actually bored enough.'

And she sarcastically wondered why he would say something like that. "Fine, I'll-."

Where had the other one gone? No one was at the patrol car and Sara had a sinking feeling something was terribly wrong. They would never leave them alone at a crime scene, not after the Holly incident.

'Sara, you still there?'

The call.

Sara had forgotten Nick was on the line. "Hey, Nick? I'm gonna have to call you back."

'Yeah, save Greg from the trash monster for me, ok?'

There was no reply from her but she did was snap her phone shut, ending the conversation. From where she stood, Sara couldn't see anything of the dumpster; it was basically the reason why she hid here for the call- to avoid looking at it. But now, she wished she had kept her eye on Greg.

The whole scene gave her a sick feeling down to her stomach. The sole officer was in a half crouch, his sidearm drawn and ready to shoot. Just a few feet away, Greg stood in total fear, his gloved hands up in air, showing he hid no weapon.

Greg was in the line of fire.

No, the officer wasn't trying to put a bullet through Greg. It was the strange man that held Greg who was the target.

Her mind whirled, the stranger wasn't armed, nor did he seem dangerous. He was just an old homeless man who held a rose colour stained glass in his hand. Only when her mind had stopped whirling and things fell into place did Sara figure things out.

The glass the old man held wasn't stained with rose colour- it was blood.

Greg didn't seemed hurt, she couldn't find his wound he just looked terrified, as Sara was terrified herself.

It finally dawned upon her that the blood wasn't Greg's; it was the old man's. The arm that gripped the makeshift weapon was dripping with red liquid coming from his own grasp on the crude piece. And it was the same arm that held the same broken glass to Greg's throat.

"Greg?" Sara didn't even know she had called out his name but she had.

"Sir, lower the weapon." Officer Robins ordered.

Yes, that was it. His name was Robins. Sara found it amusing that she should remember his name only at the face of adversity. Silly, Sara.

"Why yea all come to mah home?" His hold on the glass was still menacing.

Couldn't she do anything to help? Sara's hand flew to her own gun, but she left it there and not daring to bring it up in case the man were to panic at another firearm. She couldn't risk it at the expense of Greg's life. Not here, not now, not ever.

"We're just doing our job," Greg spoke out, trying to reason with the mad man. "There was an attack on a woman a few hours ago and we were looking for a weapon. No one is-."

"I din no hurt no one! I isn't a murderer!"

"We know!" for some reason, Sara held her hands up as well. "Just let him go and-."

"Be is quiet!" his voice boomed, sounding more authoritive than Robins had. "I needs to think." Without a free hand to wipe his face, the lunatic used the sleeve of his trench coat to remove the sweat. "I needs to think, to think…"

'Save Greg from the trash monster for me, ok?'

That's what Nick said. Maybe he knew something she didn't.

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What was she doing here?

It didn't matter; she was possibly here to pity him. Possibly here to sympathise. Right now, he was possibly the most pathetic person in the world to have thought like that.

"Greg?"

Should he answer her? If he should, he had no idea what he needed say. It's not like this was some regular social visit and if anything he felt like he wanted to be alone.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? I wanted to be with you for this."

Still no reply from him, his mind was still deciding on the possible answers. Forget about answering her, he couldn't even decide on how he should be feeling.

Was it anger? Relief?

He didn't know.

"Greg, please don't ignore me." Her body felt warm beside him as she sat herself on the next-door chair.

The warmth felt good to his cold fear.

"Please, say something." She pleaded.

It wasn't pity in her voice, nor was it the sympathy he had expected. She was concern for him and it was something that took him by complete surprise.

Right there and then, he knew what he wanted. It was such a simple request.

He wished for someone to stay with him.

And once he knew what it was, the words came out easier. At least one word had been easy for him.

"Sara…"

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This day was going bad. Actually, it wasn't just bad it downright sucked. Being taken hostage by a raving maniac was the icing on the cake!

Someone please shoot one of us.

Calm down, Greg, you can get through this. No point in panicking…

Yet.

This couldn't be happening, and all he did was dig through garbage!

"Why you all come here to poor Tom's home?"

The fact that the madman had referred to himself in third person was definitely not comforting.

"Is that your name, Tom?" Greg offered his whisper back to Tom. "Mine's Greg."

Whatever good sense that existed in this world had been void in Tom's face; there was no recognition of familiarity on his face.

"Ok, since I know your name and you know mine, we're friends right?" Greg was grasping in the dark trying to find a way out of this mess. This better work. "Friends don't do this to other friends- let me go?" He had kept the words as simple as he could. "Please?"

"Sir, I repeat. Put the weapon down or I will be force to fire!"

Greg knew that threat would never be effective. The cop was not helping at all not especially when Greg was shielding Tom. He maybe small and shrivelled but Tom had a death grip that was inhuman.

Blood from Tom's cut palm had drenched his own shirt; the smell of iron was making him nauseous.

His first thoughts had been about his own gun. He recalled how excited he was to actually be holstering one, but now, he was afraid to use it. The worst-case scenarios continued to replay in his head. What if he grabbed the pistol but Tom was faster? Or if he took the gun if Tom knew it was there so close to him?

No he couldn't, he didn't dare.

Someone do something.

"Please… don't." The plea didn't come from his own lips- it was Sara's. For a moment that Greg was ready to just lose grip on his own sanity and do anything to release himself, even if it meant being killed, Sara's voice had brought him back to reality. He was so close to snapping.

It dug deeper.

The sharp edge of the glass had dug deeper into his skin. This time, it wasn't just an uncomfortable jab- it was pain. His throat ached from the pain.

"You not suppose to come to Tom's home." His whisper had dropped, it wasn't the voice of a confused man, it was the sound of a man ready to kill to protect his territory.

Sara.

Help me.

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.----TBC ----
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A big thank you to Stormchilde, Celsie, Nickel Geek, Unlikely-to-bear-it, Laney-D, shadowryder, and Liz for the reviews.
TofuSaves: Hope it makes sense to you by the end of the story, if not, I have failed as a writer. Thanks for the note :)

To everyone else, thanks for reading. If you would like to critiqué this piece (whether for the writingto theplot outline or otherwise), it is most welcomed.

Cheers -Jo / frickangel