Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and suing me would be futile, because I have nothing to give.
Author's Note: Hello all! Here's a new idea that popped in my head while I was dodging (er, planning) another chapter of 'Denial'...I had to write it to get it to go away, haha...Greg/Sara bit, hope you enjoy it. It's a bit dramatic, but I'm in a dramatic mood tonight, so it fits perfectly well. I should have an update soon, if there's interest, and pending work is an okay experience for me. FYI: Never, ever, ever say "Isn't there anything I can be doing?" on a Thursday afternoon (while doing a 5000 piece puzzle with your supervisor), because if you do, Friday will have you swamped, and you'll end up pulling Saturday O/T. I hate working Saturdays.
Replies make the world go 'round, they also make continuations appear.
Jenny
Deviance:
Sara Sidle leaned against the bedpost, watching Greg as he lifted a footprint from the homicide they were working. "Good, now label it and hit the lights and let's check for semen."
"No problem." Greg replied, hastily scrawling a description on the plastic and dropping it in his case as he walked towards the light switch. "What do you think happened?"
Sara flashed him a bright smile, "Why don't you tell me what you think went down? You're getting better and better, I think you can handle it."
"Well, I'm thinking the victim came out of the shower and into the bedroom," Greg stated, motioning towards the towel by the adjoining bathroom door, "He was probably in the closet, waiting for her to come out." He motioned towards the closet door, which was slightly open. Pausing for a moment, he continued, "He came up to her from behind, and then slit her throat, not giving her a chance to scream before it was over. That's why no neighbors heard anything unusual going on."
"How do you explain the semen, if he killed her immediately after she came into the room?" Sara asked, gesturing towards the bed, where she had just found a semen deposit, "Anna Thomas wasn't likely to have semen in her bed, she was unmarried, didn't have a boyfriend, and worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital."
Greg shrugged, "Maybe he had sex with her after he killed her, or maybe that's a product of masturbation. Anyway, he stays and does whatever he does, mutilates her, positions her, and then walks out the front door. We've got bloody shoe prints to back that part of the theory up."
"Good job." Sara said with a nod. Anna's body had been found hanging upside down from the ceiling, her organs missing, blood pooling beneath her. "So now we've got an idea of what happened, we just need evidence to support your theory. Let's run through what we have...bloody footprints, a DNA sample of Anna's blood, a semen sample from the bed, possible partial print from the doorknob, and a bloody knife with no prints. I'll check the closet for any hairs or fibers, you get the chains used to hang the victim."
"Yes mam!" Greg said with a mock-salute, earning a wide grin from Sara. He enjoyed working with her a lot more than he enjoyed working with Grissom, and it wasn't just because of the occasional glances down her shirt. She tended to let him voice his thoughts, was patient while he thought the possible scenario through, and was a lot more fun to be around. Her relaxed demeanor, as opposed to Grissom's stern and patronizing demeanor, was a welcome relief. She did make him feel the slight bit nervous, and he had found he had learned a lot more since she had been shadowing him.
Two hours later, with no new evidence, Sara and Greg sat in an empty lab with their findings laid out in front of them. "You know the drill, first with a magnifying glass, take an extra set of pictures, then hit each one individually. I'm hoping to find some prints on that chain, anything we may have overlooked at the apartment. I'm going to see if Doc has had a chance to work on the body. Page me if you find anything, and I'll be back shortly."
Greg nodded and got to work, silently grateful that she hadn't asked him to tag along on the autopsy. He was getting used to the blood, the gore, the stench of his new job, but something about seeing them on that cold metal table, their chests open, naked and still freaked him out.
He remembered the first autopsy he was a part of, he was still in college and was doing a required chemistry internship at a local hospital. He had been observing, mostly, and doing unimportant errand work for many of the doctors on staff, but the senior pathologist had taken a certain liking to young Greg and asked if he wanted to take notes and be his assistant for the day. Her name was Rita Holloman, and she had been 39 years old at the time of her death. She was admitted through triage with what appeared to be appendicitis, but the autopsy findings revealed an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured a fallopian tube, causing internal bleeding, which eventually led to her death. He had been okay, knowing what was going to happen. He had taken enough required biology classes to know the procedures, he had watched plenty "real life" operation documentaries. Mentally, he knew what to expect.
Of course, nothing turns out to be what is expected, and in fact, he was totally unprepared for the procedure. The first thing that worried him was that the corridor the morgue was in was also the corridor the cafeteria was in. Walking to the morgue to locate Dr. Swanson had been comical at first, the overhead signs reading "Cafeteria", then "Processing" (which was where most of the paperwork was taken care of), and finally "Morgue". He had stifled a laugh, thinking in his mind that he would have to bring his roommate in sometime to see this, because if you look from the exit to the main corridor, it reads "Morgue, Processing, and then Cafeteria". At least it would explain the nauseating stench coming from the cafeteria.
His nervous giddiness turned into nervous queasiness as he pushed open the door and followed the sound of Dr. Swanson's voice, which led him into a back room, there the body was already laid out on the table. It was a lot different than the way Doc Robbins had it set up, everything was more compact, they had a much smaller space to work with, and the yellowish color of the light bulbs gave the impression that they were working in someone's basement, like in a horror flick, instead of a large hospital with real doctors.
Dr. Swanson had handed Greg a pad and pen, and instructed him to take notes of his findings, as well as document the times of each process Swanson performed. One cut into the body, and Greg had dropped the pad and pen to vomit in the small, dirty sink. Composing himself, he returned to the body, flushed with embarrassment and afraid to meet his mentor's eyes. Dr. Swanson had been kind, telling him that it was a normal reaction, it would take several dozen, maybe more, to get used to the idea. The autopsy took nearly 2 hours, and during those two hours, Greg had vomited two more times. That day, he vowed never to be around an autopsy again.
If only he had known what he would end up doing for a living.
He glanced at the clock, sighing tiredly. Some nights their shift went by so fast that it seemed as if they had only worked for 15 minutes. Other nights, like this one, it seemed as if someone had stopped the clock and was getting a good laugh at their expense. It had been 45 minutes since Sara had left him processing Anna's evidence...that was another difference, Grissom would have had a conniption fit if he had heard them referring to their victim on a first name basis, but Sara did it anyway. Some may say she was getting too involved, but it was just one of her quirks, something she always did and probably would always do. It was nice to have a name to put with the case, saying they were "processing Anna's things" had a nicer quality to it than "processing our victim's possessions. Oh, which victim? The one we found gutted like a fish, hanging upside down from her ceiling, blood covering the majority of the apartment".
He logged in all of their evidence, checking to make sure all of the evidence that needed to be brought to trace and DNA had been delivered, and then headed towards Doc's domain, looking for his partner. They still had a little over an hour left before shift was over, but they had done all they could do for now on Anna Thomas's case, that was, unless, Doc had found something they had missed.
He had just rounded the corner near the break room when he bumped into Sara, who was standing in the hallway with a pale face and a trembling body. She had hand covering her lower abdomen, the other was supporting her weight against the wall. Her eyes met his, and she said in a frightened, almost childlike voice, "Greg? I need you to take me to the emergency room."
"What--" Greg started to ask, his heart in his throat, his stomach in his feet. She swayed on her feet, and he reached out to steady her, surprised to feel her skin was clammy and ice cold. He wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing himself to support the majority of her weight as he led her out a side door.
Sara shook her head, cutting off his question, "Please, don't ask any questions, just drive."
TBC