I don't own CSI, the actors, nor anything associated with CSI…I'm not in any way being paid for this story…blah blah blah…don't sue me…
I wrote this at 2-3 in the morning, so bear with it…
Quantum Foam makes me Roam
Greg Sanders sat up, the microscope base making an indent in his forehead. The sample of the fluid found at Warrick's crime scene was still printing, so he had to have been asleep for only a few minutes. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, opening them widely in the attempt to wake up more fully.
"Ah-HEM," Harrumphed a voice from behind him. He spun in his stool, eyes wide as he encountered the least desired person in the world to see at that moment. "Grissom," he said with a gulp.
Grissom's throat worked as he fought to keep the amusement out of his voice. At any other time, he might be angry, but the lab rat had been working for twenty-one straight hours on three different cases, and the supervisor was more pleased to see Greg was taking a well-deserved nap instead of trying to tackle an enormous amount of evidence. Still, he was the boss, and had to maintain his composure even in the face of the hapless lab rat's obvious discomfort.
"Greg," he said sharply. "Why is there an indent of some sort on your forehead?"
Greg gulped again. "I...I kind of fell asleep," he admitted.
Honesty was a virtue Grissom looked for in people. He tacked on a point to his mental scoreboard of people.
"Go home," said Grissom briefly.
If anything, he would have expected Greg to be relieved at being dismissed, but Greg looked more like a kicked puppy. He realized that his dismissal seemed more like a direct demand to go home, like he wasn't needed. He added tactfully, "Go home and sleep. You've been working nearly a whole day. Hodges can finish the Felderman case."
"Ok, boss," said Greg uneasily. He eased off his stool and walked past Grissom, then turned with a huge smile on his face. "Thanks," he said earnestly.
Grissom ushered him out with a wave of his hand.
Eric Szmanda was tired, bored, hungry, and grumpy from running lines all day.
"Sara, this DNA matches...look, Tracy, this is the eighteenth take," he said, pleadingly. "Are we done yet?"
"Nooooooo..." whined his seven-year-old niece. She was the sweetest thing in the world, but when it came to scripted plays in the vicinity of her backyard, she was the spawn of Satan himself. "I'm Sara and you're Greg. Now say it, Uncle Eric, please?"
Eric sighed. "Ok, ok...I--where were we?"
"You're just about to take me on a tour of the lab," she explained. She was only seven, yet had the intelligence of a high school student and a thirst for knowledge. Every time Eric got new lines in the mail, she would make him perform with her so she could learn everything there was to know about CSI and its technology. She got adequate knowledge from the lines her uncle provided, but Eric knew it was only a matter of time before she decided that wasn't enough.
"Right," said Eric. He cleared his throat, something he did to get into character. Tracy thought maybe Greg Sanders had an undiagnosed bronchial infection. She giggled.
"What?" asked Eric.
She shook her head.
Eric shrugged. "Hey, Sara, you wanna tour the lab with me? I know you know all of the machines and stuff, but there's some new things in my lab I think you'd like to see."
Tracy, AKA 'Sara,' smiled. "Ok, Greg, but I only have a few minutes."
"Felderman case?"
"Yeah. We've got a lead."
"Lemme guess: the jilted ex-husband wanted the insurance money, and now that he's been pinned, he's called a lawyer. Now you need more evidence to keep him in custody."
Tracy let an expression of comical surprise slip onto her face. "How'd you know that?"
Eric, 'Greg,' shrugged. "I kinda overheard Grissom talking to Brass. But I guessed about the motive."
They'd been walking the whole time. Now they stopped just short of the garden, with it's tulips in bloom and a few late dandelions sticking around to visit their later cousins.
Eric let his eyes move over a heather bush, as if it were a new gadget of wonderful CSI technology. He took another step, and with an introductory sweep of his arm, said, "Ah, here we are. Sara, say hello to Bernie, the advanced scenario software creator. It's got a whole bunch of new scenario information, stuff we didn't need when the old '99 software came out, like temperature factors for fires and dead bodies. No one except Hodges and Archie and I know how to use it yet. Here, let me show--oof!"
The "oof" was not in the script, and neither was the tripping of the character, nor the falling of Eric/Greg and his head connecting with a large rock. Nor was the darkness that quickly swallowed up Eric's consciousness.
"Sara, I want to thank you again for--"
She interrupted him with a hand. "That's the third time you've thanked me, and for the last time, I'll say that it's no big deal, you only live a few blocks away from my house."
Greg smiled shyly and shrugged. "I know, but it was nice of you to take a detour and--"
"Greg, if you don't shut up about the whole ride thing, I swear I'll charge you money."
He looked disappointed. "Money, huh? No other forms of payment I can offer?"
Sara shoved him into his passenger window with a smirk. "I'd offer you to be my slave, but you'd think of something kinky to say."
Greg smiled. "Yup," he said proudly. "Got a few ideas already."
Sara sighed and muttered what sounded a whole lot like "men..." under her breath. She was still shaking her head when an old man wandered into the middle of the street, causing Sara to jam her foot into her brake pedal. Greg's head was thrown forward unexpectedly, and he was connected with the windshield in a rather painful fashion. He blacked out and didn't feel the car fishtail and finally skid to a stop three feet from the man.
Sara gasped and sagged over her steering wheel, taking several deep breaths. She glanced over at Greg, who was slumped over in his seat, eyes closed.
"Greg," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Greg. Greg! Wake up, Greggo, wake up!"
Eric woke up to a beautiful woman telling him to do so. As he gazed into her face, he realized he was dreaming, as the owner of the face was none other than Jorja Fox, who was currently in Denmark on vacation. "Greg," she said in a concerned voice. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," he muttered thickly.
"You've been out for three minutes. I'm taking you to the hospital. You might have a concussion."
Eric sat up. "No, I'm fine," he insisted. "No need." He rubbed his forehead and winced. "Hey, Jorja, what are you doing here?"
"Jorja?" demanded Sara, her eyes narrow. She faced the front again and said, "That's it, you're going to the hospital."
"I told you, I'm ok. Why aren't you in Denmark?"
She stopped the car, which Eric now noticed had been moving. She braked short of a stop sign, and looked at him with concern. "Denmark? Why would I be in Denmark?"
Eric rubbed his head again. "Did you call me Greg earlier?" he asked, avoiding the question. He couldn't even remember how he'd bumped his head or what he'd been doing.
"Yeah, because I frequently call people by their given name, and Gregory doesn't seem to cut it, so I shortened it. That ok with you?" She was getting sarcastic, an unpleasant side effect to worry and stress for her.
"You can call me Greg if you want," he fired back. "I'll just call you Sara then. Sara Sidle, from CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. That ok with you, Sara Sidle?"
Sara was relieved he knew her name, but beginning to get very confused with the way the conversation was going.
"That out of the way, I'll call Will 'Grissom,' and maybe Marg, I'll call her 'Catherine,' and George? Well, we'll call him 'Nick.' We'll even go so far as to pretend he's really a ballistics expert at a crime lab in Las Vegas."
Sara turned to look at him quizzically. "You know what?" she said. "We aren't going to the hospital. Oh no, you need more help than that. We're going to the Crime Lab." She cranked the wheel in a sharp U-turn and headed back east.
Greg woke up gradually, aware that his head was encased in soft pillows. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the eyes of someone he recognized well, his buddy Nick Stokes.
"Hey, Nick," he said groggily. "How long have I been out? What happened to Sara? Is she ok?" He sat up suddenly, looking for Sara.
George Eads--AKA Nick--pushed him back down and said, "Woah, easy there, buddy. Back up. Did you call me Nick?"
Greg looked confused. "Yeah. What, you changed it? How long have I been out?" he joked.
"Three minutes," said George. "Why'd you call me Nick?"
"That would be because it's your name..." said Greg, like he was talking to a kindergartner.
"My name is George," said George, just as condescendingly. "And Nick is a character I play on a TV show."
"Ohhh, alter ego," said Greg, not knowing what else to say in light of such an odd statement. He sank back into the pillows.
George looked into his eyes. "You really think I'm Nick, don't you?" He sensed that his friend of ten years was telling the truth, and maybe was not even his friend as he knew him anymore.
"And Jorja is Sara...and..."
"Sara? Where is she?" asked Greg, perking up.
"Listen, buddy, I don't know what happened, but I'm gonna clear some things up before we both get too confused to function. My name is George Eads, I play a character on CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, and the people you know at the lab? Catherine's real name is Marg Helgenberg, Warrick is Gary Dourdan, Grissom is Will Peterson, and Sara is Jorja Fox. Your real name is Eric Szmanda, aged 32, and you live with your brother and his kid right now. I was coming to hang out with you today, we were gonna go to a 3 Doors Down concert, and you blacked out hanging out with your niece."
Greg shook his head wordlessly through the speech, mentally disagreeing with everything George was saying. "No..." he said. "My name is Gregory Hojam Sanders, I live in Las Vegas, 5948 Cinque street, I work at a Crime Lab, and I have a crush on Sara, who is not Jorja Fox or goes by any other name than Sara Sidle! I don't have a brother, who does not have a daughter by any stretch of imagination!" He seemed agitated, and fiddled with the sheets on his bed.
Suddenly the door burst open and Tracy fell on Greg, crying and sobbing. "Are you ok, Uncle Eric?" she whimpered. She had the intellect of a high school student, yet retained the emotional capability of one her age. "I thought you were dead! You just looked so...still...I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead..." she hugged Greg around the neck so tight he almost choked. He reached up and patted her back awkwardly. "I'm ok...kiddo..." He sent a questioning expression at George, who mouthed back, Tracy. "I'm ok, Tracy, I'm ok..."
"Where's your father?" asked George. "Is he still at the mall?"
"Yeah," she sniffled. She let go of Greg, who took a welcome gasp of air and massaged his neck.
Tracy made herself comfortable at the edge of Eric's bed, which was now occupied by his look-alike character, Greg, although no one in the world knew that at that moment other than Greg and George.
"Will?" asked Eric. "What are you doing here?"
Sara shot a meaningful glance at Grissom. "See?" she said. "He keeps calling us by different names. I'm Jorja, Warrick is Gary, and Catherine is Marg..."
Grissom shook his head as if to clear it. He shined a flashlight he'd produced out of nowhere into Eric's eyes, and said, "No sign of any head injuries, though I'd still check him into a hospital in case he has a concussion."
"I don't have a concussion, Will, and I'd appreciate you telling me why you guys all insist on pretending to be your characters. And where did you get this lab? Are you renting it for a new scene? I've never seen it before..."
"Scene?" asked Grissom curiously. "As in a movie scene or TV scene?"
"TV scene!" said Eric exasperatedly. "As is CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, not Miami or New York, those spin-offs. As in the original, Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation, starring Will Peterson, Jorja Fox, George Eads, Gary Dourdan, Marg Helgenberg and moi, Eric Szmanda!"
"Alright, calm down, Gr--Eric," said Grissom patiently.
Eric could see they would not believe him, although he knew now what was happening. He'd read about this a few places, these split-dimension things, and realized this was the only plausible explanation.
"Look, I can prove it," he said. "Grissom, you lost your hearing for a while, and got it back with an operation."
"Everybody knows that," said Sara, unimpressed.
"Nick's father calls him Pancho!"
Sara and Grissom looked at each other, surprised. "We don't know that," said Grissom.
That episode must not have happened yet.
He looked at Sara for some kind of inspiration, and saw the newly healed scar on her temple. Must be right after Inside the Box.
"And...and...Jo--Sara, right before the lab got blown up, you were rejected by Wi--Grissom."
Sara flinched and Grissom's stoic gaze flickered.
Eric continued triumphantly. "You called her honey, when Sara was sitting on the curb, all cut up. Catherine was the one who left the hotplate on, but everyone thought it was Hodge's fault at first." Now for the icing. "Sara, I don't remember which episode it was, but you invited Grissom out to dinner, and he turned you down. You said by the time he figures it out, it'd be too late."
Sara and Grissom gave each other the same look: astonishment. Both of them came to the same conclusion at the same time, and Sara reached out her hand. "Eric, nice to meet you. I'm Sara, of the Las Vegas Crime Lab."
Eric shook her hand. "Eric Szmanda, of the popular TV hit CSI. Nice to meet you."
Greg sat up in bed, talking to George. Tracy had left by her own will, claiming homework, but Greg suspected she was upset by the whole ordeal of 'Eric' being injured and a little...out of it.
"So...I'm a character? That's all? Just some script played by an up-and-coming actor?"
George flinched. "Well, yeah...but obviously not anymore..." He shook his head in disbelief.
"If I'm here, then where's Eric?"
"Maybe where you were. Where were you?"
"I was in a car with Sara, she was giving me a ride home, and there was this guy, she braked, and I think I hit my head."
George looked thoughtful. "Maybe that's what did it. Seems you both hit your heads at the same time..."
Greg looked at him doubtfully.
"What episode are you on?" asked George, changing the subject.
"Episo...I have no idea. The lab exploded about a week ago..."
"Has Grissom confronted you about your shaking hands yet?"
"Yeah, a few days ago..."
"Must be after Inside the Box...hey, wanna see an episode? CSI's on right now...I don't know what episode it is, but if it's after Inside the Box, I'll turn it off, ok?"
"Ok."
George grabbed the remote and turned to Spike TV. On screen was Greg, busy at the fume hood. He had a quizzical expression on his face, and when he turned slightly to investigate something in the background, the hood exploded.
The real-life Greg gasped as he watched his body sail through the glass. He watched Sara, walking down the hallway nearby, suddenly fall as if a giant hand pushed her down. He watched himself, cleverly portrayed dramatically for full television effect, lay out on the floor. He watched as he--on TV--tried to raise his head, but then fell back amid the broken glass, while Sara watched in stunned disbelief.
Cut to commercial.
Greg--real life--swallowed, still staring at the TV screen, his eyes huge and scared. George snapped the TV off and looked at Greg, his expression pitying. "I'm sorry you had to see that," said George quietly.
Greg turned to look at him, his eyes glistening. "People don't understand," he whispered. "What it was like...it was horrible...I thought I was going to die, and there was pain, so much pain, and seeing Sara there too, it..." he ran out of words, and took a sip of water conveniently placed on the nightstand. "Every day now, I'm so aware how short life is, how it can be taken away...I knew it before, but now...it happened at my safe place, my sanctuary, the only place in the world I felt secure, and it could happen again...and I'd know what it's like, only next time, I might not wake up."
George's eyes were sympathetic, and he looked away politely when Greg swiped furiously at his eyes.
"George?" Greg asked.
"Yeah?"
"Can you turn it back on? I want to see what happened. I'll be ok now."
George obliged, and there was another commercial before the show was back on. Greg was shown on a stretcher being carried out of the building, then put in an ambulance. He watched with horror as the camera showed Sara, timid and scared, sitting alone on the curb. "How come no one's going to her?" asked Greg.
George shrugged. He didn't want to say, "For dramatic effect," because it was no longer a TV show. It was real life for someone, and he couldn't ignore that.
On screen, Grissom walked to Sara, asked if she was alright. When he called her honey, Greg grinned widely and pointed at the TV set. "Honey," he chuckled. "He called her honey. I knew it. There's something there."
They watched the rest of the episode in silence, George, remembering that Eric's brother had TiVo, fast-forwarded through the remainder of the commercials.
"That's my life," said Greg. "And all it is, is a TV show…they didn't know, did they? The writers and all, they thought it was…a show, and only a show, but it's my life, and I…I can't take this, this is too overwhelming…" He shook his head, thoughts becoming more jumbled as he thought about the situation, and decided to not think.
"I understand," said George, nodding. "Well, I don't understand, but I understand how overwhelming this must be…ok, I'm not quite sure how that is either, but…"
Greg put a hand on his arm. "Don't hurt yourself," he joked.
I know, crappy place to end, but I'm fresh outta ideas…I'll write more if you guys review…and sorry if I misspelled any of the characters' names, I wrote this on MY computer, which doesn't have internet, and couldn't access the 'net until I put this on the other computer, the one with internet, but then I didn't feel like looking up the names to correct…yeah, anyway, please review! Flames, compliments, obituaries, anything…just comment.