He found himself sitting in the DNA watching Mia work quickly and quietly. He missed the lab life. He sat in the chair that he collapsed in three hours ago, just watching her do her job. Hodges kept staring at her and it was pissing him off. He wanted to go over kill him; hide the body and hire a tech who would respect people and there lives. He decided it wasn't the smartest thing to do; he worked with the sharpest CSI's in the nation.
He was still sitting there when Grissom came and found him. Tara was innocent, her husband killed the Stewart's because Tara wanted a baby and Neal couldn't do it. He sighed and stood after Grissom left the room.
Nodding at Mia he walked out, no reason not to leave now, it was midday when he went searching for Grissom. He wanted to talk to someone, Grissom was his last choice, but since Catherine, Nick and Warrick's shift started in four hours, he decided to find his boss and talk to him.
Of course Grissom was found in his office, feeding his beloved tarantula, which Greg named secretly Fluffy. Greg leaned against the door frame. Maybe he would talk to him tomorrow. He sighed.
"Want something?" Grissom asked not looking up.
Greg smiled to himself. "Nothing that can't wait till beginning of shift." With that he walked away from the door, down the hall, and out into the parking lot.
On his drive home, Greg diverted from the path and made his way back to the hospital. He didn't know why, he just went there. He got made his way up to the burn unit where Tara was, she was still alive, if you wanted to call it that. She would be living alone now, her husband paying for his crimes. She might be able to keep the baby if it survived the trip down the hill and the flame.
He felt strange. He wasn't sure what it was, it was just sitting there in the pit of his stomach. His experience was nothing like hers. He figured out what the feeling was, it was guilt. He'd get over it, eventually.
He sighed and whispered a prayer for her. He wasn't very religious, but sometimes, people just need a prayer. He turned and walked away. No attachments.
When he arrived home he felt the urge to get piss drunk and sleep for a week. Grissom would fire him if he attempted that, so it wasn't a great idea. He decided sleep would not be his friend for the next few days and flopped down on his couch. He turned the TV to the TV Guide channel and watched the channels pass by. By the time it got back around to the top of the listings. He was asleep.
He was asleep yes, but not that nice comforting sleep that you obtain after being awake for thirty-six straight hours. He got the sleep that makes nightmares seem real, the sleep that had haunted him since he was 16. He was a deep sleeper with a brain that went a million miles an hour. He didn't get the dreams where he gets the girl, saves the world and wakes up happy as a clam. He got the dreams that normal people are afraid to have. The dreams, more precisely, the nightmares, he had, he thought only to be had by victims of horrible crimes and the people who were on death row the night before their execution.
He jerked awake. He died, again. He was used to having that dream at least once a month. One of his many variations of the explosion; this version was particularly disturbing. He hadn't turned around and was extremely close to the hood. He never stayed asleep long enough to see the final result. He always woke up when the fireball hit his face. There were more mild versions of his nightmare. Being badly disfigured, not being able to work, Sara being the one killed. He never dreamed of the real event, only his perverted versions tormented his mind. He knew for the next few weeks, these would be the only dreams he would have.
He wanted to talk to someone. He had to talk to someone. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, swing shift would be starting soon. Maybe he could catch Nick or Warrick on the way out tonight. He could call Sara, she never sleeps anymore, or that's how it seems to him. He could call Catherine, she was like a mother to him, but she had to worry about her own child now. He could call Grissom, which would be the last call he would make. He stared at the phone that was sitting on his coffee table. He could call his mother. That would be a fun conversation. He would love to call his grandmother, but alas she had passed a few months before. She always helped him with his problems.
He sighed. His mother was the safest bet. She understood him, most of the time. She still wanted to know why he decided to leave his very nice salary behind as a lab tech and become a CSI. He told her it was because of the explosion. She didn't believe him. He bent forward and picked up the phone, and dialed the number, it's been the same for years, he couldn't forget it if he wanted to. He sighed as the line rang. He heard a click and a familiar hello.
"Hey Mom… It's me. Yes, everything is fine. I… I just need someone to talk to."
Greg sat there for the next hour telling his mother every that had happened. She just simply said, "Greg, you need some time off."
He would have agreed to that if he hadn't of been just promoted. He told his mother he had to go and would call her some time next week. He turned the phone off and placed it back on the table. He closed his eyes once again. This time, not from exhaustion, this time to see his family, he opened his eyes and realized something. He hadn't been back to Saint Gabriel since he left for college. His mother wanted him home.
"You've been away for so long Greg." His grandmother told him on the phone once. "They would love to see you."
His family didn't like the fact that he moved. He had a life in another city and never looked back. His 19 year old brother Jack was certain he stayed away because of the death of their father shortly before Greg left for school. His 25 year old sister Mary knew that he wanted to keep his family and work life separated. He had called her after the explosion, not his mother.
"Greg, you need to just come back, even if it's just for Christmas. Papa Olaf would love to see you."
Greg sighed again. Papa Olaf should have been the first person he called. But, he called his mother. He debated making the phone call. He picked the phone up and dialed the number; he knew that Papa Olaf would understand.
"Hey papa, it's Greg. Got some time?"
Hours later Greg walked into CSI, feeling refreshed. He had a nice talk with his grandfather. Grissom stopped him in the hallway.
"I have time, want to talk?"
"Nah, I'm good. I think I'll just do a little work in the lab. I gotta stay fresh on the procedures Grissom." Greg smiled and walking into DNA.
Greg sat down at the counter and ran a hand over it. He smiled. This was his domain; it will always be his, even if he wasn't running the machines.