Title: Good Enough
Chapter 19
Author's Notes: This story takes place prior to the new season—in other words, Greggo is still in the lab.
Warnings: Slash and angst.
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Grissom sits across from Garret Ames, his hands politely folded on the table. Gris decided at the last minute that he would join Brass and me for the interview with Garret, Logan, and Natalie Ames. Considering how the last meeting between Ames and Gris went, this could be rough. To be honest, though, I'm kind of glad Gris is here. I've felt a little uncomfortable around Brass since he "warned" me about my relationship with Greg yesterday. So much so that I pretty much freaked out on Catherine.
Following my minor meltdown, Catherine and I went out for breakfast. We talked a lot about family—parenthood in particular. Catherine keeps telling me that my mom will come around, that her refusal to deal with the abuse I suffered is because she can't cope with the idea of her child being in pain. And Catherine thinks that maybe my mom feels like she failed me somehow, that she blames herself for what happened to me.
Truthfully, some small part of me—some irrational, angry part of me—blames my mom, too.
Gazing at Garret Ames, Gris shifts in his seat. "You were supposed to bring your son along, Mr. Ames," he says.
"Logan has band practice," Ames says, staring impassively at Gris.
"Mr. Ames," I say, "We spoke to a witness who saw Molly Cooper at IHOP with a girl and a boy fitting the descriptions of your children."
"The night Daniel Kincaid was murdered," Brass adds, leaning forward, the palms of his hands flat against the table.
Ames glances at his daughter, who is sitting quietly beside him. From the look on Ames' face, I'm guessing this is news to him.
After a moment, Ames leans closer to Natalie and says, "Well?"
"Well what?" Natalie says, "It's not true, Dad. Molly and I aren't exactly friends."
Ames turns to me. "There you go," he says.
"It's not that easy, Mr. Ames," Gris says, "We need some answers."
"Ask a different question," Ames says curtly.
"All right," Gris says coolly, "Where were you the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"
Shaking his head, Ames licks his lips, "You people amaze me." Leaning back in his chair, he says, "Mr. Grissom, I work two jobs."
Undeterred, Gris says, "Were you working one of them the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"
"As a matter of fact," Ames says, "I wasn't. I had a meeting."
"With Kim Cooper?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalie Ames shift in her seat. She's been pretty quiet this time around. Not a glimpse of the "tough girl" she showed us during our last interview.
Ames lets out a breath. "Why does my personal life have anything to do with your investigation? I wasn't home. I admit that. So, no, I don't know if Natalie and Logan were home. No, I'm not able to vouch for them."
"Were you with Kim Cooper?" Gris asks.
Ames glares at Grissom for a long while. I can feel any nugget of trust I'd built with Garret Ames slipping away. Finally, Ames snarls, "Yeah, I was with Kim. Do you want me to provide an itinerary of our evening?"
"Perhaps later," Gris says, "Right now, I'm more interested in Natalie's itinerary."
Natalie looks pleadingly at her dad, and then runs her fingers through her hair. "I was with Logan," she says.
"Natalie," I say, "I can take a picture of you and Logan and show it to our witness. She recognized Molly."
Licking her lips, Natalie glances at her dad. "We were there," she half-whispers, "I had to talk to Molly."
"About what?" Gris asks.
"We weren't plotting murder," Natalie says, scowling.
The tough girl's back.
Gris leans forward. "Were you plotting suicide?"
"Whoa," Ames says, holding up a hand.
"Mr. Ames," Gris says, "The letters you brought me indicate that Daniel might have . . . lost perspective. The references to 'Romeo and Juliet'—"
Natalie shakes her head. "We weren't plotting anything. We were talking."
Brass walks around the table, stopping when he's directly behind Natalie. "The waitress at IHOP says you were arguing."
Way to go, Brass. Intimidate the girl.
As it turns out, Natalie Ames doesn't intimidate as easily as I thought. Instead of shrinking back, she spins around in her chair and looks Brass in the eye. "She was on my last nerve, and I was telling her to get the hell off of it."
I bite my lip to suppress a smile.
"Nat," Ames says, "Were you talking about Danny?"
"Ask Logan," Natalie snaps.
"Look," Ames says, "I'm sorry if you're pissed about the letters, but I'm glad Logan brought them to me. I mean, you don't tell me anything anymore."
Natalie stares at Ames. "Like father, like daughter."
This interview is dissolving into a family sniping match. I'm not sure what can really come of this. Natalie isn't giving us any information. And even if we compelled her to give a DNA sample, we don't have anything to compare it to. All we really have is a waitress that puts her in front of a plate of pancakes the night of the murder.
As the Ames' glower at each other, Gris stands up and gestures for me to follow him into the hall.
"So, what do you think?" I ask.
"What do you think?" Gris tosses back, folding his arms across his chest.
I gaze at the door of the interrogation room for a moment, and then I say, "I think she's innocent. But I think she knows something." Tugging at my bottom lip, I add, "I also think that any momentum we had in the interview is gone."
"All right," Gris nods, "I agree. What else do you think?"
Shifting my body, I say, "To be honest, Gris, I think you blew whatever rapport I'd managed to establish with Garret Ames. I mean, he might've told me something. But not now."
"Well," Gris says, "I guess you're going to have to use those famous people skills of yours, Nicky. But for now, we're going to cut them loose."
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My people skills haven't done a thing for my relationship with Greg. After breakfast yesterday, I swung by Greg's place to sweet talk him into forgiving me for being a jerk. I managed to get in the front door and about half-way into Greg's bedroom. Unfortunately, Greg remembered his decision slow things between us down. So, he pretty much told me to go home and take a cold shower.
Consequently, I spent the remainder of a sleepless day staring at the ceiling of my bedroom.
Maybe Catherine's right. Maybe I'm gonna have to throw the guy a bone. I could make an appointment with the department shrink—just for show—and then tell Greg the shrink said I'm a little stressed-out, but overall, normal.
But my luck, the shrink would lock me up on sight. Or worse yet, he'd get me to cry and totally embarrass myself. Or he'd tell Grissom I'm a loose cannon and he needs to take me off the field . . .
No way. I'm going nowhere near that quack.
Still, I have to figure out how to fix things between me and Greg. We haven't been together long, but I'm already used to the feel of Greg's body next to mine. It just doesn't feel right, lying in bed all alone. I mean, even when we're fighting, just his presence next to me, his warmth, helps me feel better.
Besides, I'm in love with the guy.
Letting out a breath, I creep around the doorway of Greg's lab. The lab tech in question has his "music" blaring out of a boombox. He's hunched over a microscope, mouthing the words to whatever's currently deafening my ears. Greg doesn't notice me, so I walk over to the boombox and flip the volume down.
The sudden silence causes Greg's head to snap up. "Nicky," he says. A ghost of a smile flits briefly across his face, then disappears. "You here on a social visit, or is it business?"
"What won't get me kicked out?" I ask.
Greg takes a step toward me. "I'm sorry about that, Nicky. I just thought we needed to stop going down that road for a while."
All at once, I feel a swell of loss erupt in my gut. Worrying that I might break down right in front of Greg, I turn my back to try and pull myself together. After a moment, I turn back to face Greg.
"So, you're gonna run away?" I say.
"Nicky, I'm not running away. I just—"
"Then what do you call it?" I counter.
Greg shakes his head and leans against his station. "You need to deal with your problems."
"So until then, I'm banished from your life?"
"That's not what I said."
Throwing my hands up in the air, I walk a few steps across the lab. I'm not going anywhere in particular. I just feel the need to keep moving. "Here's what I'm hearing," I say, "You're issuing me an ultimatum. Either I do what you want, or I'm out."
Greg takes a step toward me. "Nicky—"
"Know what, Greggo?" I say, "I can't live like that."
"I didn't give you an ultimatum," Greg says, his voice cracking.
"Sounded like that," I shout, "Well, you know what, man? You were right about us. This isn't working—"
"Stop putting words into my mouth, Nick. I never—"
"We're done, Greg," I snap, "We're done."
For I don't know how long, we both stand there, simmering. I don't know about Greg, but I feel a little shell-shocked. I think I just shattered our relationship for good. But right now . . . I don't much care.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, I hear a cough. When I glance up, I see Bobby Dawson standing in the doorway, looking more than a little embarrassed. He looks like he's headed out for the day.
When neither Greg nor I say anything, Bobby takes a step into the lab. "You guys all right?"Greg and I simultaneously nod and mutter something about how "we're good."
Bobby smiles pleasantly and walks the rest of the way into the room. "Just so you know, you guys got a little loud."
Damn.
"How loud?" I ask.
Bobby runs his fingers through his curly hair. "I-heard-you-down-the-hall-loud."
Greg peers into his microscope. "Well, shift's up. Most people are gone. Day shift's probably having a morning meeting."
"Probably," Bobby says.
Bobby's being pretty cool about this, but I don't feel much better. Brass already warned me that Greg and I might get a hard time if anyone finds out about us. And anyone could have heard us.
"Listen," Bobby says, "I'm meeting David down at the diner. You guys want to come?"
"I'd love to," Greg says, sporting what I'm sure is a forced smile, "But the zany day shift version of me is going to be late. I'm covering for him."
"How about you, Nick?" Bobby says placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Ah, I don't know, Bobby" I say, shifting from one foot to the other.
Undeterred, Bobby smacks my shoulder. "Come on," he says, gesturing toward the door.
I gaze briefly at Greg, and then, shoulders-slumped, I follow Bobby out the door.